


Redemption Songs

by AislingSiobhan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Asgardians - Freeform, Because of Reasons, F/M, M/M, Mpreg, Occasionally Female Loki, Pregnancy, Rape Recovery, post-Avengers Assemble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 77,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AislingSiobhan/pseuds/AislingSiobhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[HP/Loki] Loki escapes from Asgard during his punishment, and finds himself back in New York City where people still remember his face. Well, except for one man, who doesn’t know of him or the Avengers and has a strange habit of trying to save people who are beyond redemption. Like Loki, Harry has known pain and suffering, and was Mother once. And like Harry, Loki now has someone who wants to save him. Slash. Post-Avengers.  Violence. Language. Torture. Typos. Creepiness. Eventual happy ending. AU Harry Potter ending. Past LV/HP. Mpreg. Past rape. Lots of Loki feels. Angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 01

New fiction. Oh god; stop the plot bunnies, so that I might get some studying done! I have another FrostIron fic in the works, a Thor/Harry/Loki one, and then, THEN, then I’ll get back to working on all the HP fics I left hanging. #Ashamed

Enjoy PART 1!

**“Redemption Songs”**

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros, et all. Avengers, Thor, Loki, etc belong to Marvel, Stan Lee, et co. I make no money from this and own nothing, don’t sue.   
**Summary:** [HP/Loki] Loki escapes from Asgard during his punishment, and finds himself back in New York City where people still remember his face. Well, except for one man, who doesn’t know of him or the Avengers and has a strange habit of trying to save people who are beyond redemption. Like Loki, Harry has known pain and suffering, and was Mother once. And like Harry, Loki now has someone who wants to save him.   
**Warnings:** Slash. HP/Loki. Post-Avengers. Violence. Language. Torture. Typos. Creepiness. Eventual happy ending. AU Harry Potter ending. Past LV/HP. Mpreg. Past rape. Lots of Loki feels. Angst.   
**Rating:** NC-17.   
**A/N:** Title is the name of a Bob Marley song: it’s good, youtube it. Also. I might have broken Loki (with all his creys and my feels and his hurts), so he’s bottoming for this fic… 

_XXX_

“Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery; none but ourselves can free our minds.” – Bob Marley. 

“…love has within it a redemptive power. And there is a power there that eventually transforms individuals.” – Martin Luther King, Jr. 

“However, since He took the most horrific death to redeem us, He showed us in fact that suffering and pain have great power.” - E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly.

**Words:** 1,439  
 **Chapter 1**  
March 18th 2013. London. 

The war hadn’t ended the way Harry had always thought it would. 

It had been Hermione’s idea, actually, based off of something she had read in the children’s book Dumbledore had left to her in his will. Harry had later learnt that it wasn’t actually that particular story Dumbledore had wished for them to read and remember, but another, but that was the one that stuck in Hermione’s mind. 

It was the magical version of Romeo and Juliet, the star-crossed lovers. But in the Wizarding World, marriages were used to end feuds between families, not hidden like Romeo’s but celebrated, resented at times, and the families that were joined were unable to harm one another without harming themselves. And that was the point that had ensnared his friend. So, when the Death Eaters had attacked the Burrow just after Bill and Fleur’s wedding, Hermione hadn’t run and hid like the majority of other guests. Nor had she attacked and defended as the Order members did. Instead, she had cast ‘ _Sonorus_ ’ upon herself, and announced before friends and foe alike their surrender, on one condition: that Harry Potter marry the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort hadn’t been a bad husband, Harry had to admit. The Dark Lord couldn’t torture him, or allow others to hurt him, and Harry had turned it into a game of sorts, to throw himself in front of someone else who was being tortured and see if Voldemort could stop the curse in time, or risk injuring himself if not. He had mellowed a little, with victory, though not by much. But he treated Harry well, and his friends were welcomed to visit, though Hermione’s Hogwarts attendance had been revoked and she was made attend the School for Muggleborns with all others of dirty blooded parentage, despite Harry’s pleas and protests. Harry had, after his graduation, taken up his seat in the Wizengamot, as Lord Potter and Black and as the consort of the Dark Lord. He found he rather liked politics, for all that he had hated it as a child, and when spoken rightly to, politicians regularly found themselves falling at Harry’s feet. He had a way with words when it came to them, and Voldemort was pleased enough by it to allow Harry to help draft new legislation. It became Harry’s job. He was the law, and Voldemort the judge and jury who adhered to it; and adhere he did, for Harry was the saner, calmer, of the two and if he didn’t like one of Voldemort’s plans he said so, and Voldemort revised and revised until his husband agreed as well. 

They were married for years, and though they were never in love, they were happy. Not everyone was as happy as they were though. In the fifteen years since the war had officially ended, rebellions had begun. They had been lost, and begun again and again. Muggleborns mostly, since the magical creatures were content enough under the new government and Purebloods and most half-bloods were well taken care of. But sometimes numbers were more important than the calibre of the soldier, and occasionally, the rebels got close enough to do real damage. 

The summer of 2012, the Dark Lord and his husband announced that they were expecting their first child. Sex was something that Voldemort could demand from his husband, and something that his husband could not get from anyone else because he was married: occasionally, Harry demanded sex as well, when he was lonely or horny or drunk. Voldemort wasn’t fond of the activity, not looking the way he did at least, but his husband was easier to live with when he was pleased, and his husband through complete accident had ended up the master of Death. It was always to Voldemort’s benefit to keep the man who kept Death from him happy. And Harry had wanted a child. It had taken years, but Snape had finally created a potion that would allow for a natural conception between two males (perhaps not so natural, but it did not require constant spell work, nor the near complete draining of ones magic in supplicance to a fertility God). At six months pregnant, they had felt the pregnancy stable enough to announce to the public. There was no longer a risk of miscarriage, and Snape had assured them that the nutrients and supplements Harry was on would prevent a still-birth, and Harry had had a very easy pregnancy so complications were unlikely; unfortunately, the rebels chose that day to attack. 

In the chaos of the attack, Harry was injured. Though he could not die, his child did. As he lay, unconscious in the real world, as his child was cut out of him and prepared for burial, Harry had found himself seated side by side with Albus Dumbledore on a bench at Kings Cross station. 

They spoke of the Peverells, and of Death, which Voldemort had already known but had never told Harry. Dumbledore, in his usual omniscient manner, had informed Harry that it wasn’t the right time. The right time was yet to come, and he only had to preserver a little longer, to bear with the loss and rise above it. Harry had laughed in his face, had told him that everything would be fine. He had kept laughing, genuinely amused by the thought that he didn’t have the right to choose when to have a child, until Dumbledore had stood up and pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead. But it had no longer been Dumbledore, but Death, and in his arms when he boarded the Hogwarts Express was Harry’s unborn son. 

Harry had woken, a week after the burial, and had done everything he could do to forget. When that didn’t make it easier to live with the loss and the hurt and the hate, he begged Voldemort to let him help hunt down the rebels. Still looking little more than twenty years old, (thanks to the Hallows but never having known why), Harry found himself once more setting out to camp in the woods and hunt down ancient relics. When each of those responsible had been killed, the majority by his hand and he never once regretted his vengeance, Harry fell back into Voldemort’s arms and begged for another child. 

It was loveless and violent, but Harry relished every bruise and ache and each finger that dug into him and left its mark, because it was felt. Hurt was better than apathy, than emptiness, and if Snape’s potion succeeded a second time there would no longer be emptiness: Harry would be whole. He would be a mother again. 

When the child had been conceived, there was no morning sickness, no dizziness or cramps or tiredness. Though they had used the potion just like the last time, Voldemort had been convinced it had failed, and when Harry three months later noticed the tiniest of swells to his stomach he said nothing. 

Fear, like nothing he had ever felt before overwhelmed him. There was a terror so deep and dark within him, that screamed that it would happen again, that Harry could never escape it. The fear haunted his dreams, and every waking moment he saw Death carrying away his son, until eventually he couldn’t look at Voldemort without feeling like his heart was being ripped from his chest. So he had packed up his things, and taken as much gold as he could carry, and he had run. 

He had gone to America, where no Wizard would look for him, because America had no Ministry, no real way of keeping track of their magic users, and finding someone who had hidden there was like hunting a needle in a haystack. It was where fugitives went to start over, because with the right magic in place (other magic, foreign magic), not even Wizard magic could find them. Harry had only meant to stay away until the child was born. He had planned to bring the child home then, to introduce Voldemort and have them both welcomed back with open arms. Harry had never expected to stay away for so long, so indefinitely, without word to his husband, who probably thought Harry had been kidnapped and killed. 

But Harry had meant to go back sooner. It was just, he hadn’t exactly planned to get so distracted, that he would lose track of time and of himself and stay in America for years. He hadn’t expected to stay hidden for so long, but nor had he expected to stumble across a tortured God hiding, huddled, in a New York alleyway. 

**XXX**

That’s Harry’s background done. Eventually I’ll write Loki’s, and then the part where they meet and shit hits the fan. I was going to post it all as one, but I’ll have to split it for Live Journal anyway and I figure this will motivate me to continue… :)


	2. Part 02

Whoo, chapter two. And it didn’t take that long, and it’s also a longer chapter. I think the next one will be fairly short, but the one after that will probably be gigantic, so it will take longer to get around to finishing! Patience is a virtue? Thanks for all of the feedback, and everyone who read the story and enjoyed it. 

**“Redemption Songs”**

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros, et all. Avengers, Thor, Loki, etc belong to Marvel, Stan Lee, et co. I make no money from this and own nothing, don’t sue.   
**Summary:** [HP/Loki] Loki escapes from Asgard during his punishment, and finds himself back in New York City where people still remember his face. Well, except for one man, who doesn’t know of him or the Avengers and has a strange habit of trying to save people who are beyond redemption. Like Loki, Harry has known pain and suffering, and was Mother once. And like Harry, Loki now has someone who wants to save him.   
**Warnings:** Slash. HP/Loki. Post-Avengers. Violence. Language. Torture. Typos. Creepiness. Eventual happy ending. AU Harry Potter ending. Past LV/HP. Mpreg. Past rape. Lots of Loki feels. Angst.   
**Rating:** NC-17. (There should be a higher rating, just for my Loki feels)  
 **A/N:** Title is the name of a Bob Marley song: it’s good, youtube it. Also. I might have broken Loki (with all his creys and my feels and his hurts), so he’s bottoming for this fic… 

_XXX_

“Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery; none but ourselves can free our minds.” – Bob Marley. 

“…love has within it a redemptive power. And there is a power there that eventually transforms individuals.” – Martin Luther King, Jr. 

“However, since He took the most horrific death to redeem us, He showed us in fact that suffering and pain have great power.” - E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly.

 **Words:** 5,523  
 **Chapter 2**  
June 21st 2013. Asgard. 

He should have expected it really, should have seen it coming a long time ago. His defeat had been unexpected, Thor’s arrival on Midgard unwelcome, but even with those two unplanned for factors Loki had never truly considered the possibility of Thanos ever actually punishing him. Odin would punish him, surely, though Frigga and Thor would defend Loki from the more barbaric of Asgardian tortures. The humans would surely have seen him punished, humiliated and brought low (so much lower than he had already been brought by the so called Avengers), and so Loki had simply chosen to _let_ Thor take him back to Asgard. He could have escaped from Stark’s tower, he could have disappeared to another city anywhere on earth, but then Thanos would have been able to reach him and SHIELD might have eventually tracked him down. But on Asgard, his only real threat lay in the form of his not-father. 

Loki should have known that he could never (had never) escape that lightly from a mess of his own creation. When he had cut off Sif’s hair, he had thought he would not be punished, because he had been trying to make her see how vain Thor was, how bad a match for her he was. And then when he had won her hair back from the dwarves and escaped their deal, he had never expected Thor to help them punish him, to sew his mouth shut, to pin him to the floor and hold him there while Loki screamed and struggled and begged to be defended. But Thor had, just like he had told the Midgardians of how Loki was terrified of being silenced permanently; like Sif had failed to see any of his good intentions and allowed the dwarves’ punishment to go ahead without protest, though she had later asked for his forgiveness for doing such. Loki had always thought himself too smart to get caught in his own trap, snared by his own schemes. Yet, he always seemed to find himself humiliated and hurt, though he never saw it coming in time. 

But he should have. 

He should have.

Thanos had promised him pain unlike anything Loki had ever experienced before. The promises of longing for something as sweet as death, the words dripped in his ear like venom every time Loki attempted to meditate, had kept him awake for nights on end while he was upon Midgard. To think that Thanos would not make good on his word was foolish and Loki cursed himself for being so naive, so arrogant as to believe he had slipped the Eldar’s grasp. 

The Tesseract had controlled each of the humans Loki had enslaved, had bound them to Thanos’ will. Just like it had infected Loki’s mind, mingled with his hurt and his fear and his anger, and driven him to lengths he had never gone to before, pushed upon him Thanos’ desire to dominate all life form and fanned the flames of jealousy that already existed within Loki’s heart. But beneath every part of his actions that were _his_ , the Tesseract forced thoughts that were _Thanos_ ’. Though he had left calmly with Thor, thinking himself safe while upon Asgard, Loki should have known that the Tesseract would exert its master’s will even here. 

His guards were once men who had trained under his watch, fought for Asgard at his command. They had been friends and comrades once, though embarrassed as they had been when Loki had let the Jotnar slip into Asgard on their watch during Thor’s coronation, each had been as dedicated to Loki their King as they had previously been to Odin before. But now, with the Tesseract held in the weapons vault above their heads, Loki’s guards had turned from old friends to prison guards, and then as Thanos sank further and further into their minds, to torturers and rapists. They were the ones who made Loki scream and beg and cry in his every waking moment, and in his dreams Thanos and the Other were there, whispering into his ear, words of comfort and praise, congratulating him on being such good entertainment, on being a great fuck though pity they weren’t close by to try him for themselves. They consoled him, promised him an end soon, and then Thanos’ hand would strike across his face and Loki would snap awake with a cry, on his knees once more as another of his tormentors forced their way inside of his body with a grunt. 

This was the punishment that Thor had refused to let Odin subject his brother to. These were the actions Frigga was so determinately against happening to her son. To be broken in the dungeons of Asgard, in any way deemed necessary (or enjoyable for the tormentors), was a punishment inflicted upon the worst of the worst, traitors, and what was Loki now if not a traitor to the throne of Asgard? To the brother he had killed and the father he had usurped? Frigga and Thor had argued for a lessor punishment: isolation. Two years of isolation, to think over his deeds and mistakes and to be ready to repent before the All Father and his family once the two years were over. He was to have no visitors, no word from those who still professed to love him, but he was not to be harmed in anyway. And yet, Odin’s first sentence, the one his wife had refused to stand behind, had been the one to come to pass. Thanos’ will controlled the guards, Thanos’ desire for vengeance and pain, but Odin _must_ have known, Heimdallr must have _seen_. 

It was his punishment, Loki thought on the rare nights where he was left in peace or at the least used once only then left alone to crumble. Heimdallr must have seen, of course he must, because Loki was using none of his powers now to block himself from Heimdallr’s sight like he had done before. Heimdallr did not tell other peoples’ secrets, unless they threatened Asgard, and what was Loki’s suffering in the scheme of things? Was he not supposed to have been bound to a rock until Ragnarök anyway? Could this be it, he sometimes wondered, and Heimdallr did not tell for fear that Loki’s release would unleash the force of the prophecy upon the gods; Fenrir would break free of his shackles to devour the All Father, and Jörmungandr would rise from the ocean of Midgard to swallow it whole, and Hela would welcome all of the Æsir into Helheimr until it was time for their world to spin again, anew. Heimdallr must fear the twilight of the Gods, or he must still be angry at Loki for freezing him upon the Bifrost years ago, decades ago in the scheme of things, and Loki did not think Heimdallr to be as petty as he himself was. 

Had his mother or Thor not once asked how Loki was getting on? They that would love him, or so they said, had they never thought to check? Or perhaps they did, and Heimdallr had lied, told them that Loki was enjoying his creature comforts, the dirt and dank and stench of the dungeons, and the taste of semen upon his tongue, the slick feel of it in his arse, the thought that there was so much of it inside him that it had made its way, like salmon swimming backwards, into his stomach, sitting there like lead and making him queasy. But Loki was enjoying it, had Heimdallr said? Loki lived for the attention, he had said once before, so maybe Heimdallr thought this was another of Loki’s games, an attempt to seek pity and early freedom maybe. 

But Loki hated it. Hated every one of the men that touched him, who would take liberties with his body, and every one of those he once knew who had followed Odin’s orders and not once come to see him. And he hated that he knew deep inside of his heart, when it was still feebly beating, that Heimdallr _had_ seen, and Odin would have been the first to question him (before Frigga, before Thor, or Sif who was almost still his friend, and Sigyn though she had been tricked into marriage with him was still the mother of his child and cared a little for him). Loki knew Odin would have sworn Heimdallr to secrecy, and Heimdallr, who had sworn allegiance to his King would keep Loki’s torment a secret unto the grave. 

And Loki… Loki was left, abandoned, in Hel. 

The guards had first bound Loki’s magic, with cuffs of steel around his wrists and the silver muzzle Stark had created across his face. Odin had replaced the first set of handcuffs with another, a stronger pair, though both had to be present for the magic to properly be suppressed. One guard, one day, after growing weary of Loki whimpering his cries behind the contraption of metal and silver, wanting to know how loud Loki Silvertongue could be, had wrenched the muzzle from his face with the strength of an Æsir; all of the dungeon heard Loki’s screams that night, every cry and grunt and breathless pant, as he struggled to stay on his knees and not end up with his face mashed against the floor, with his arms bound behind his back, and no way to catch himself. The guard in charge had entered his cell the following morning, found the broken muzzle, and had Loki whipped in punishment for trying to escape. Thanos had seen inside of his head, seen and experienced all of Loki’s fears, and it was Thanos’ voice that came from the guard’s mouth as he ordered two others to sew Loki’s lips shut. And though Loki had screamed and struggled and cried for mercy, two men had pinned him down, while Thanos’ host sewed up his mouth, fingers and thread bloody and Loki’s face streaked with tears. 

They took out the stitches when they were in the mood to hear him scream. When it was time to eat, meals left at the top of the stairs leading down to the dungeons and later collected so that no one but those under Thanos’ control were ever in the dungeons, they stitched him closed again. Always eating in front of him, taunting Loki with food he could not have no matter how much his stomach rumbled for it. 

They came to him another day, almost eight months after his failed attempt to overthrow the earth. They carried with them a potion, one that Loki and Frigga used to make together. It was one that allowed those who were infertile to conceive. Frigga, who blessed unions with prosperity and children and happiness, and Loki, who was magic, who did magic and made magic: together they had created this potion, years ago, when Loki was still learning the art. Only Frigga could have made it now, though whether she knew it was for her son, Loki didn’t want to think about. 

Instead, he turned his face away, pressed his lips tightly together, even after the thread had been cut away, and tried desperately to avoid drinking the potion. The leader forced it down his throat eventually, and then forced his cock inside of him; his seed and stain, making Loki feel as dirty on the inside as he was on the out. Thanos knew all of his fears; he had seen inside his head, his memories. And though Loki loved Sleipnir as he did his other children, innocently and without fault, whole heartedly, Loki hated how he had been conceived: Svadilfari hunting him down through the trees and undergrowth, his legs burning with exhaustion, but fear pushing him on, always on because being caught was not a viable alternative. Until he was caught. And mounted. And _forced_. Loki had hid away for nine months, unable to change from mare to man, and when the child had come, his eight-legged foal, it took Loki three days to work up the courage to touch Sleipnir and remember how he had come to be. 

Again, a pregnancy had been forced upon him, Thanos’ seed this time (though it was an Asgardian’s body that did the deed, Loki had no doubt that somehow Thanos had managed to impregnate him himself). Another lash upon Loki’s back for his failure. 

For three months, he changed and grew. Pain blossomed in his stomach, unnatural things happening within him, (because the potion had never been given to a male before, and Loki had been female when Svadilfari took him), as the child grew within him. Thanos whispered to him in his dreams, hands to Loki’s stomach that was barely beginning to swell at three months gone; he told Loki how pleased he was, how well Loki would do as his brood mare, and Loki got sick on Thanos’ feet at the very thought. 

The guards were careful not to touch his stomach, content to let this be another punishment in lieu of their usual beatings, though the rapes did not stop. Bile rose in Loki’s throat every time hands brushed his belly, fingers soft and cautious, pressing here and there as he was rutted into viciously from behind. 

Loki choked once, on his back beneath two of them, mouth sewn shut once again so there was nowhere for the vomit to go but back down. As he coughed and heaved and sputtered, clenching in pain and fear around the cocks within him, one torturer came and the other thinking Loki was trying to buck them off punched him hard in the stomach. No one spoke of Loki’s miscarriage, though the one who punched him never visited his cell again. Loki felt guilt, eating him up from the inside, at the relief he felt as _Thanos_ ’ child bled from him (it was not his child, like Sleipnir had not been his child until the foal was right there in front of him, sweet and innocent and relying on him for protection). But that Loki was happy at the loss only proved he was a monster, truly abominable, as Thanos regularly pointed out now, for whom but a monster would blame an innocent child for their parents’ sins? 

A month had passed since then, fourteen months since his imprisonment, and though at first Loki had held out hope for a rescue he had long given up such foolish dreams. He was battered and bruised and broken, used in every possible way until there was nothing left of him to be taken, no small part of him left untarnished or dirtied. He was all gone, used up, nothing but a vast empty sucking hollow, a void of darkness where even his previous anger and hatred no longer tread. It was all about pain now. 

Loki had screamed a lot for Thanos, for Thor, for anyone who might have the power to end this, until his voice was hoarse and his tongue flecked with blood from his throat and all he could do was rasp until he was given water or his lips were sealed again. Loki screamed sometimes to Hela, his legitimate child with his ex-wife Sigyn, who ruled the land of the dead, and he begged Hela to take him to her bosom, to free him from this pain in the only way she would be able. Hela had whispered back to him once, in his dreams, with her pale hands on his gaunt face, and her mismatched eyes holding his own green desperate gaze. 

“It is not your time yet,” she told him softly, before repeating the words Death had once whispered to another green eyed man. The right time was yet to come, she told him, he only had to preserver a little longer, to bear with the loss and rise above it, she breathed in his ear, breath like silk and smelling of honey and Loki had leant into her embrace, clutching his daughter to him as he shook with tears.

At Hela’s side, a tiny child looked up at Loki, with wide green eyes and a mop of messy black hair. Potter’s child would have been almost three months old, but here, in death, he was almost a year: six months in the womb and five outside of it, and he looked so very much like Loki as a child that the God flinched at the sight of him. 

“Is that?” He asked, unable to voice the words that caught in his throat and took his breath away in fear. 

“No. This is the child of another. He was mourned.” Hela ran a gentle hand through the child’s hair, a soft smile on her grey-ish pale face. “It is not your time yet,” she repeated, before pressing both hands firmly against Loki’s flat stomach, “but soon, father, soon.”

“Never!” Loki hissed, his eyes narrowed as he jerked away from his daughter’s touch. “Never again,” he promised, as Hela sent him back to waking. 

She whispered then, into the dreams of her mother, of Sigyn who was half Æsir and half Fae of Alfheimr. Sigyn who had so hated how Hela looked because she blamed herself and her unknown father’s genes for how unnatural her child had turned out to appear. Sigyn, who loved Hela regardless and mostly just hated herself and her shortcomings and Loki for getting her pregnant on the only night they had ever had sex during their sham of a marriage. But Sigyn pulled Hela into her arms when she appeared, smiling sadly at the mismatched eyes and the waxen grey face and the hair on the right which was black and on the left a bone white as if the life had been sucked out of it. 

“Hello, mother,” Hela whispered, Loki’s dead child clutched against her chest. The child, genderless and still, was tiny though it was three months old in death and should have been bigger than the palm of her hand. But that was what malnourishment did, Hela supposed. “This is my sister, or,” she paused to glanced down at the unfortunate creature in her hands, “she would have been.” 

Sigyn’s eyebrows rose up into her hairline, and she gasped down at the child who looked to be fully human or Æsir. “How?” She tried to think of anyone who had spoken of Loki in the last year, anyone who might have been pregnant by him, unless he had assumed the form of Lady Loki and allowed himself to be taken. The child appeared to be three months old, but time moved differently on Helheimr, Sigyn knew. Loki would often visit their child and be gone for a few days, though he would return and tell stories and stories that amounted to years’ worth of adventures and experiences. “How old?”

“Father was three months gone when she died.” 

The cogs turned in Sigyn’s mind, and she gasped as she came to the only conclusion she could. “He has taken up with one of the guards?” It was unsurprising that Loki had managed to seduce someone, probably the one in charge, in order to better his living standards for the duration of the punishment. But he would not have given up a child willingly, not unless he had not known something was wrong, or he had asked for a healer and had been refused, or unless… 

“Was he-” Sigyn bit her bottom lip. She glanced away from the child and her child and over towards the bed that Hela had been conceived in, the one Loki and she had shared just once. He had sat beside her on that bed the day she found out about her pregnancy and begged her with tears in his eyes to let him keep the child, even if she did not want it, he did, desperately, and he nor the child would ever bother her again if she granted him that one boon. And she had laid her head in his lap, six months pregnant; as he reached down to stroke her bump while he told her all about Sleipnir and how Loki had hated being pregnant, swapping stories of nausea and dizziness and tiredness. He had confessed his fear, blinding terror, that raged within him as Sleipnir grew, the horrific pain as he gave birth alone in a clearing, trying to keep those horrible tortured animal noises from leaving his throat in case someone heard him, and confessed how he loved his children, all of them, the one Sigyn carried and the ones Odin had cast out for being monsters and the one he had borne, though Loki had hated Sleipnir while he bore him. He had confessed, softly, his face pressed to his arm to muffle the horrible words, that if he had lost Sleipnir before his birth Loki would have been glad, because he hadn’t loved his son yet, hadn’t known him, and so would not have missed him or the reminder of his rape. 

“Yes.” Hela said simply, hands cradling the unwanted child to her chest. The girl let out a cry, her first noise since appearing in Helheimr, and once the noise had stopped, Hela and the child were both gone. Sigyn found herself sitting up alone in her bed, her nightdress soaked with sweat while she clutched shaking hands over her fast beating heart. 

Loki had long let go of the foolish belief that someone might care enough to save him. He had long stopped hoping for comfort or reprieve or safety. Redemption was beyond his grasp. Rescue was never coming. There was only pain left. Though he told himself he was ok with that, that he had accepted this for it was all he would ever have, all he deserved, his heart still jumped into his throat with anticipation as the door swung open, and instead of guards, a woman in her nightdress stood shaking in the threshold. Sigyn had a cloak around her shoulders, its hood pulled down to hide her face, but Loki could see the way her eyes darted around frantically. She gasped as she got a good look at him, naked and feeble, shaking all over and covered in blood and grime and waste. Seed ran down the backs of his thighs, and had dried around his ear and chin, and the blood was fresh upon his lips as they had been sewn shut again that night after the guards had taken their fill of his throat. 

“Oh Loki!” Sigyn gasped. She rushed towards him, careful though to leave the door open and not risk locking herself inside as well. Loki looked at her, really looked, and he could see the pain etched upon her every feature, the sadness and pity and anger. She did not fake her reaction to seeing him, and she had not come to hurt him. And for a moment, until she pulled out a dagger, Loki _hoped_. 

“Hold still!” She chastised him, as he kicked out at her. He scrambled back on his arse, hands behind his back clawing at the ground to pull himself away from the knife. “I’m trying to help. Hold still!” The blade was at his mouth, but it wasn’t cutting through the thread. It was like the last time, Loki thought despondently, when the dwarves had stitched his lips together, and only dwarf weapons could cut him free. 

“The sceptre,” he tried to tell her, but his lips moved less than a centimetre apart from one another and no recognizable sound escaped them. If Thanos had been the one to bind him, then surely the sceptre that Thanos had gifted him with would free his mouth? But he could not tell Sigyn this, not until his mouth was unbound, so he silently allowed her to turn him over so she could jiggle the tip of the knife in the lock of one handcuff. It popped free after a moment, though it felt like hours to Loki, who lay tense beneath his ex-wife, ears open to any and all sounds that might spell trouble for them. 

“Thank you,” he signed to her, having learnt to do so the first time he had been unable to speak. It was before he had married her, but during their marriage, though there was no love, a friendship had formed, and she had asked him to teach her so that they would have their own secret language (because no one other than Sif or Frigga had bothered to learn it when Loki did). “You should go, before they come back.” He signed again. Sigyn passed him the knife, and Loki fiddled with the second cuff. He offered her a nod of thanks and one of goodbye as she slipped back out of the cell and to her bedroom. 

Sigyn barricaded herself inside, in her tower room beside Loki’s old room, a hallway away from the King and Queen, but she trembled, wide awake all night in fear that her part would be uncovered and she punished like Loki had been punished. She did not allow herself to relax until the alarm was sounded, and Frigga knocked upon her door to inform her that Loki Laufeyson had escaped from Asgard. Sigyn did not sleep for two days, tense and agitated whenever anyone bad mouthed her ex-husband, worried and terrified whenever Loki’s guards stood too close to her in any room. 

But the morning after Loki’s disappearance, each of them collapsed in a flash of blue light, and when they woke from their healing sleeps, not one of them could remember a thing about the past year and two months. Their eyes were no longer blue, and Thanos no longer had a purpose upon Asgard, because the only one with the power to teleport between worlds was no longer on the world that housed the Infinity Gauntlet, and so Thanos set his slaves free. But his hooks stayed latched within Loki’s mind, and Thanos followed him back to earth, to where he landed, naked and unable to stand, armed with only a knife at the foot of the rebuilt Stark Tower. 

Loki still had one cuff on his wrist, and it was making his magic unpredictable and slow. His injuries, his hunger and exhaustion were not helping either, and each attempt to perform his art was lacklustre and shoddy and Loki cringed, because if anyone had seen him they would have called him a fraud. He looked like a petty con artist, attempting to trick people out of their coin with smoke shows and flashing lights, but it was all he could manage and it was enough to conjure himself a pair of trousers, though the shirt he had created turned to brightly coloured dust as it settled on his skin. 

Loki had the knife against his left wrist now, twisting and turning, trying to catch the latch and free his other hand. He stood his back a mess of scars and fresh lashes, scabbed over or bleeding sluggishly, and his chest just as dotted with wounds. His stomach was free of scars, having three straight months of being left alone to allow his innate magic a chance at healing. But his legs trembled, blood and semen streaking across his skin beneath the leather he had conjured, and he kept his arse against the wall because every time someone looked at him he clenched up in fear. His mouth was sewn up, sticky with come and lips covered with dried blood and that strange thick thread that Sigyn had not been able to cut. One eye was bruised so much that it was almost like Loki was wearing an eye patch, dark against the paleness of the rest of his skin, and his cheekbones had sunk in from starvation and his eyes squinted in the light that had been denied to him for so long. 

People passed. They watched and they stared and they pointed, and all the while Loki tried to free himself of the last handcuff, tried to release his magic so that he had some small chance of defending himself if Thanos caught up to him. Eventually, unfortunately, one man that had been standing in that very spot over a year ago, as the Chitauri rained death and destruction down upon his head and the rubble that had buried his wife, spoke. 

“That’s Loki!” He whispered, pointing at the fallen God. His voice was harsh, even in its softness because there was so much emotion behind it, and he was too afraid to speak louder in case it startled the God into leaving. “THAT’S LOKI!” He screamed at last, when after a moment no one moved to help him apprehend the criminal who had killed his wife. He had watched Loki fly passed a year ago, as he tried to dig his wife out from under the fallen stone and cement, and the God had laughed, horned-helmeted head thrown back, as Iron Man chased him across the sky. 

People surged forward at that. No one thought to question, or check, or eye Loki a little longer to make sure. Mob mentality took over, and they swamped him. Three or four of them got in a good hit, a punch to the face, or a kick in the groin, or a briefcase into the stomach, before Loki managed to teleport away. It was wonky, and uncontrolled, and wrong, and he landed in a pile in an alley, trying to breathe through his nose accompanied by some horrible gasping sounds that couldn’t escape from his mouth though they tried. Loki hunched down, seated on the floor, with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around them. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there for, shaking and too afraid to stand up and face more people who would harm him. Loki tried not to cry, because he had done more than enough of that over the last year already. He was free now. Stranded on Midgard, at the mercy of those who hated him, but he could move, once the cuff was off he could go to England or Asia or Canada (because didn’t the Canadians hate Americas, so shouldn’t they thank him for his failed attack on Manhattan?). He would find somewhere to start again, glamour his face once he had magic enough to waste on that, and he would blend in. Loki would heal, and survive and prepare. If Thanos came after him again, Loki swore to himself he’d be ready this time; he would not be taken by surprise again, never again. Hurt and humiliation and suffering had moulded Loki into what he was, into who he was; it was something that had always been with him, a part of him, intended to break him, though it never had. And it would not this time either, Loki told himself, even as he gave in to his desire to cry. 

“Are you ok?” A voice called, soft and warm and _safe_ sounding, from the mouth of the alley. When the human who was asking was within reach, walking cautiously forward, hands held out in front of himself, offering themselves to Loki for his comfort, Loki did not flinch away as he had from Sigyn and those humans before. Instead, he looked at the green eyed, dark haired man before him, and Loki threw himself into his arms. The strangers hands held him gently, afraid to touch him in case they caused pain, but they were a warm presence just above the skin of his back, rather than on it, and Loki couldn’t decide whether to press back against the hands or press forward against the body before him, the hard chest and the hard swell of his stomach and… what?

Loki drew back sharply, glancing up and down over the stranger, between his obviously masculine features, and then to his very pregnant belly. He wanted to question him, to ask how this stranger could bear it, carrying someone else’s thing inside of him, unwanted and unwelcome, but Loki could not speak, so he stared instead. 

Harry laughed softly, used to that sort of reaction, because the potion Snape had created wasn’t even two years old yet, and not widely known. “I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours,” Harry offered with a one-shouldered shrug. There was a half-smile on his lips, the feel of Loki’s half bound magic swirling wildly around them, on his skin and in his hair, like it was a part of him too and was trying to find its way home. Loki glanced up from Harry’s stomach, eyes fixing on the same green eyes as the child Hela had brought to visit him once had. Loki swallowed, and Harry’s green eyes slid down to the stitched upon his mouth, pale pink lips swollen and bruised and bloody, and Harry’s face tightened in anger. 

“What the fuck?” 

And didn’t that just sum everything up perfectly, Loki thought, holding back a snort of laughter. 

**XXX**

Thanks again guys. Let me know what you thought? 

Ok. Take them. Take them all. All of my feels and all of my creys, take them away! Because Loki is sick of them, and they are KILLING me. Sobbing uncontrollably… Needs to go back on tumblr and find happy frostiron feels now.


	3. Part 03

I was researching Viking punishments for this chapter, and can I just throw this out there? “You had your tongue cut off if you told nasty lies about someone”… Um, yeah, but Loki?! Just saying. Odin is a little biased, even in favour of his least favourite son. So don’t go too hard on him! 

Also. Woke up this morning feeling like I’ve been hit by a bus and dragged halfway around the world by whichever part of me got stuck under the bus… And I have work later. FML.   
Thanks for all the feedback. Hope you continue to enjoy this. 

* * * 

**Words:** 5,895  
 **Chapter 3**  
April 30th 2012. Asgard. 

Loki had returned to Asgard in disgrace. 

He had allowed himself to be brought back by Thor, who though angry and hurt by Loki’s actions still professed to love him. Thor had promised to protect him from their – their, Thor had said, their, not my, not mine, but theirs, as if he truly believed that Loki could ever again be a part of that family – father’s wrath somewhat. A little protection from Odin was better than no protection from Thanos or the one-eyed Director in charge of Stark’s rag-tag team, Loki figured, as Thor led him away from Heimdallr and the ruined Bifrost. 

Green eyes narrowed, glancing back at it warily, wondering what about it seemed different. “We began attempting to fix it,” Thor whispered, answering his unasked question, “After you fell. I wanted to-” He fell silent, turning his face away from Loki to stare out at the stars. “But it matters not for you are home now, brother.”

Loki snorted, muffled by the metal gag Stark had held out to him earlier. He had glared at the mortal, even as the man attached it to his face, Loki’s arms handcuffed behind his back and Captain America’s grip strong and sure on his shoulders to keep him from struggling. Thor had re-cuffed his hands in front of his stomach, so at least Loki did not feel as vulnerable as he did before, but the muzzle had remained on. 

“Come, brother,” Thor bid softly, tugging lightly at Loki’s left arm to encourage him to walk faster. “Our parents are waiting.”

There he went again, Loki thought, glancing at the blond Asgardian from the corner of his eyes. Our parents, ours, not his, not mine, but ours, as if Thor actually believed the foolishly naïve words that fell from his tongue. So childish, so stupid, as to believe that Odin had ever thought of them as equal, had ever seen Loki as his son. 

As if Loki would wish for him to. As if Loki could muster the energy to care about them, any of them, those that had watched him fall and _celebrated_ it, they that had never come to find him or defend him or protect him when he needed it most. They had left him to Thanos, and there was nothing Loki could meet out, nothing that would even that score in any way. They had failed him, much as Loki had been a failure to them for his entire life. But no more. He did not care, he would not care, or at least that is what he told himself. His mind whispered at composure, and his heart built up walls around it like ice, growing and freezing and keeping all feeling within and everyone but him without. This conviction lasted only until he caught sight of his mother, and at the blinding smile she sent him, and the way she pressed her hands to her heart, and stood up from her throne until Odin pushed her back into it, made Loki falter. His heart called her mother, as did his mind, but hadn’t he just convinced himself they were not his family? 

“My son,” she whispered, sounding relieved to see him. Her hands pressed over her own mouth then, as if she could share in his discomfort and humiliation and take some of it away from him, to bring it upon herself instead, the way mothers were meant to. He would have called her mother then, he realised, if he could have spoken, but as he could not he inclined his head in her direction. 

At his side, Thor fell to one knee in supplication before the All Father. Loki remained standing, glaring defiantly at the King who was no longer his King, nor his father. This man was nothing to him, but a body upon a throne that should ( _never, never, never intended for a Jötun, for a monster such as you_ ) have been Loki’s long ago. 

Odin watched him in silence, eyes as eager as his wife’s, though he allowed none of his expressions to give his happiness away. Loki would have only mistaken them for amusement at his suffering, or pleasure at his failure, when in fact Odin was just glad to have his son home. He would punish the boy now, like he had every other time Loki had done wrong, and he would do so in a way that appeared stern and harsh but was in actual fact very, very lenient. Loki might not have realised the extent to which he was let away with things, but Thor knew, and Odin knew, and the Council certainly knew and they were not happy with it. 

Odin had decided upon exile. He had banished Thor, and allowed his son back home once he proved himself; he had stripped Thor of his name and lineage, of his rights as an Asgardian, as a person, reduced his son to nothing more than chattel that anyone could claim or kill as they willed with no worry of retribution, but Odin had allowed him to return home once he earned it, allowed Thor to become one of them again and a better man for it. He would grant the same opportunity to Loki, and though his son would hate him at first, as Thor did, he would come to understand with time, and perhaps, he would be grateful when the time came for him to return to Asgard. 

Odin had said he would send him to earth, so Loki could make amends among the mortals he had injured. The Tesseract had the power to send Loki back there and then later call him home, but it would be a last resort punishment. 

First, before guilt could be decided, criminals were obliged to undergo Ordeals. The last time Thor had been accused of a wrong doing, he had undergone the Ordeal by Cake, where those who choke are guilty and those who finish every last crumb are beyond innocent, so much so, that their accuser is required to grovel for forgiveness for their libel. Thor, who had mastered eating far too much far too fast at a young age, had yet to be found guilty. Loki, who now knew he was a Frost Giant, would undergo the Ordeal by Cold Water, and Odin would tie his hands and his feet and let him fall into a pool of water and if he sank he was guilty. But Loki would not sink. Loki had learned to swim young, and he had not sunk once, not even while Thor flailed in the water beside him, grabbing onto his brother’s arm to stop himself from drowning. Odin had watched his son as a child, first discovering his talents over water, watching it freeze around him and melt again, and again, until, at last, he had managed to walk on its surface without first having to freeze it. 

Loki would not be found guilty, and the Midgardians could think what they liked, but what they wouldn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and Loki would not be allowed back until everyone who might remember him had died of old age. 

“Loki Odinson,” Odin began only to be interrupted as Loki gave a snort of protest. “Loki Laufeyson,” Odin whispered, not wanting too many of their audience to hear. Thor and Frigga heard, as did the four Council members who stood to his left, holding the Tesseract between them. Loki turned a glare upon Odin at that name, eyes like slits of poison, full of hate and anger and the older man frowned heavily as he tried again. “My son, Loki, you have been brought before myself and my court to undergo the Ordeal by Cold Wat… what?” Odin trailed off, eyebrows furrowing and his frown deepening as Fargo moved to stand before him. 

“Loki Liesmith is guilty of treason, of deceit, of spreading vicious lies, of allowing the Jotnar into Asgard, of ruining Prince Thor’s coronation, of almost killing the All Father, of bringing war to Midgard and almost beginning a war with Jötunheimr as well. His crimes are many, my friends, and they are well witnessed. There can be no doubt that he is guilty. As such, there can be no mercy, no farce of an Ordeal when all present know that he will trick and cheat his way to victory and escape punishment as befitting him for one that resembles a slap on the hand of a toddler for pulling pigtails. I, and my fellow Council members, declare an Ordeal unnecessary, and recommend for all of Asgard’s sake that the All Father exile the traitor to Jötunheimr.” Fargo turned, casting Loki a look that promised untold horrors, with eyes that flashed as blue as Barton’s and Selvig’s and his own once had. “Where he belongs.”

The breath caught in Loki’s throat, and he felt like he was choking or drowning, air caught up inside of him that could neither go up or down. He felt sick all of a sudden; there was a roiling in his stomach and a clenching in his chest and his intestines had twisted themselves in knots from the fear that rushed through him at the colour of Fargo’s eyes. They had used to be brown, and kind, and calm, Loki remembered. He was the one Council member who had actually ever had patience for Loki’s tricks and jokes, saying they reminded him of his own son as a child, before he had succumbed to an illness and died. He had always invited Loki to sit beside him at feasts, and engaged him in conversation at parties where Loki would never have been other than he was Odin’s son and Odin made him. And now, Thanos had taken his mind, when Asgard should have been safe from Thanos, and the man moved to condemn him to a fate worse than death. 

“No! They will kill him there!” Thor exclaimed, striding forward with Mjölnir raised as if he planned to swing it at Fargo’s head. “He is still a Prince of Asgard and my brother, and I will not stand idly by as you allow him to be sent helplessly to Jötunheimr where they would torture and kill him for their own amusement! It would be a crime against a member of Odin’s House, an act of war against Asgard; how dare you even suggest as such!”

“Then exile him!” Gragor exclaimed in return. He stood, with the Tesseract in his hands, his eyes glowing blue, beside Odin in his gilded throne. “If he would be no longer one of us, his punishments would no longer concern us. Send him to his own kind and let us forget about him.”

Maybe, Loki thought, Thanos could reach him more easily upon Jötunheimr than he could upon Asgard, or perhaps Earth. Was Jötunheimr closer to which ever part of space housed the Chitauri’s home world, Loki wondered? He should warn the All Father about the Tesseract, Loki realised, if only to protect Loki himself from Thanos’ revenge, but he could not speak, and any whimpered complaint his mouth tried to make came out muffled and pathetic, and they were ignored in favour of the arguments regarding his punishment. 

Eventually, it was decided that Odin would exile him, but as they would not send him to Jötunheimr, and the Council felt it cruel to the mortals to send Loki back to Midgard, he would be kept in the dungeons of Asgard. 

“NO!” Frigga shouted, rising sharply from her throne to glare at each of the assembled crowd one by one. “No, I will not allow you to exile _our_ son to a lifetime of suffering and cruelty right under our very noses! You know what becomes of those who are exiled; you have seen what has been done to them! You would allow the same to befall _our son_? Would you? WOULD YOU?” Her chest was heaving, and her face had flushed in anger, and Loki felt something crumble inside of him, part of that wall that he had built around his heart cracked and disappeared because of her words and her defiance. Not even Thor had been that sure in his defence of Loki, that determined and desperate, or so angry at the All Father. But as their mother spoke, Thor strode forward once more, and heatedly voiced his agreement. 

“You will not touch my brother, least you go through me to get him.” Thor stood in front of Loki then, Mjölnir raised and one hand held out in front of him as if to catch the throats of anyone who ran at him. But no one moved. Behind Thor, Loki shifted, catching the horrid grin that stretched over Fargo’s face just before the other two Council members’ eyes turned blue as well. 

“Very well,” Fargo said after a moment’s silence. “We leave the decision in the hands of the All Father.” The room had long ago been cleared out. All that remained were the Council of four, whose minds had been overrun, and the House of Odin (and Loki, because he did not include himself as one of them though he felt like he could keep his mother and perhaps, maybe, possibly, his brother, but he could not be an Odinson). 

“Loki Odinson,” Odin murmured, sitting up straight in his throne, as Frigga slid gracefully back into hers and Thor shifted a little out of the way so that his father could see Loki’s face as he spoke. “I banish you to the dungeons of Asgard for a period of two years. You will live in isolation, barring the guards who bring you food, water and fresh clothing. You will be allowed to bathe in your cell, but not to leave it for any reason, except for a medical emergency. A healer will be sent to you on the second day of your sentence to conclude the possibility of such an emergency arising, so there will be no point in lying about one. You will remain bound, and gagged, and you are not permitted to ask for anything to entertain you or comfort you, and you are not permitted to attempt to contact your guards in any manner or form.”

Odin took a breath, using that moment to glance at his wayward son. Loki had his eyes narrowed again, but not in anger. There was confusion swirling in the green of his eyes, and wariness darkening in the centre, dilating with hope. He seemed so untrusting, so unbelieving, that Odin would allow something so easy to come to pass, that Odin would wish to avoid damaging him. 

And for the pleasure of imagining Loki’s mouth dropping open in shock, and his eyes going wide with surprise, Odin continued on, “You have not been exiled. You are still my son. No one is permitted to harm you, injure you or insult you in anyway, as all negative actions towards you will continue to be regarded as an act of treason against the House of Odin. Two years hence, I will come myself to free you from your isolation, and I hope when that time comes you will wish to be welcomed back to my home and my table and into my arms, my son.” 

Guards took Loki away, bound and gagged, to a cell that he would remain in for fourteen months. The following day, they were sent back into Loki’s cell with a set of handcuffs that when paired together prevented the use of magic. They were stronger than the ones Stark had managed to develop in such a short amount of time, but Loki spent the rest of that day trying to force them off of his wrists regardless, fighting against the cuffs to try and force the magic inside of him out to no avail. 

The healer came on the second day, just before Loki was about to go to sleep, and he brought with him some food and some water and a sad smile for the imprisoned Prince. Apart from a little malnutrition, which wouldn’t be helped by Loki having to wear the muzzle all of the time, and signs of exhaustion, Loki was healthy. Attempts to call for a Healer were ordered to be ignored if they came from Loki or from less than five guards agreeing with one another that a healer was truly needed. Odin didn’t want to risk Loki escaping after feigning an illness, because he had done so before. 

He did, however, order the blacksmith to make a second muzzle, one that was easier to remove, and all of Loki’s guards were ordered to remove the muzzle for twenty minutes of every meal time, three times a day, and twice more for five minutes at a time so Loki could drink some water. The new mask was fitted to Loki’s face without complaint by the healer, who imparted the instructions from Odin before he left. Loki hoped for a moment that it would not be too bad, that this would not be too awful, because the All Father really did seem to be trying to prevent harm from coming to him. 

But this hope only lasted for two weeks, until the eyes of his guards’ began to flash as blue as the Tesseract. For two weeks, the muzzle was taken off so Loki could be fed, but afterwards it was only removed when one of the guards wanted to hear Loki scream. And that was only until they decided it would be easier to simply sew his lips together. 

_XXX_

August 18th 2012. 

“How does my son fare, Heimdallr?” Odin asked out of the blue one day. 

For four months, Odin had been coming to Heimdallr’s side, watching as the dark skinned Asgardian watched Loki in his cell. He had never asked about Loki though, never enquired one way or another, because he honestly hadn’t wanted to know. He was content to imagine Loki sitting around, bored and angry, but safe, and home, and loved even if the boy didn’t feel that way at the moment. The thought of knowing that Loki was trapped in a cell, angry and lonely and _bored_ (which had always been the worst thing for Loki to be) was a torture in itself for Odin. He wanted to take the child out of the dungeons, to pull Loki into his arms and hold him tightly until the world ended, but he couldn’t. Because he had set the punishment to appease his Council, and soon he would enter the Odinsleep and he couldn’t afford to have his Council angry and disorganized in his absence. 

Odin had forbid Frigga from questioning Heimdallr, and had order Heimdallr not to speak of Loki to anyone, because the knowledge would hurt his wife and anger Thor and could be used against Loki in the future by everyone else. 

Frigga sobbed in Loki’s childhood bedroom most days, sad and heartbroken, and no matter how often she begged to be allowed to visit him in the dungeons the Council would insist that the isolation be total. It was what Odin had ordered, and to go against an order of the All Father was treason, even by his wife. 

Thor had gone back to Midgard, unable to cope with the thought that he was walking the floor above where Loki was locked away. This was a different punishment to the ones that had come before; all other punishments had been to appease a foreigner, to prevent them from waging war upon Asgard or from attempting to kill Loki in place of the punishment. But this? This was because the Council had took it upon themselves to wrench control from Odin’s fingers, his words from Odin’s mouth, and twisted them until they were so knotted no one could accept any word but the final ones to make sense. Punishment, only punishment; the harsher the better. The idea of forgiveness was laughable once the Council had been done speaking. Thor knew it would be over soon, a year and eight months to go and he would have his brother back. Not the same brother perhaps, just as Thor was not the same since falling to earth years ago, but Loki would be safe and loved and welcomed back after facing his punishment like a true Asgardian for once, and not tricking his way free. The others would respect him for that, they would throw a feast in his honour, and all would celebrate the return of Asgard’s missing Prince. 

In the meantime, Thor fought crime with the Avengers, and talked with them of Asgard and the brother that had slipped through his fingers so long ago, but that was, maybe, possibly coming back to him slowly. One day at a time. It would be a slow and torturous journey, one that Loki would undoubtedly resent, but he would be happier for it at the end, Thor told his friends, and Odin told his wife, and Heimdallr said nothing at all because he knew more than any of them how badly they were all lying to themselves. 

“He suffers,” Heimdallr told Odin that day. 

Odin had needed to know, one way or the other, to put the fears and monsters in his thoughts to rest. Frigga had wept enough, and needed to be consoled, and what could Heimdallr tell him that Odin did not already know. Loki was bored, angry and lonely, but it would be for the best. 

“Of course he does,” Odin agreed. “But it is for his own good, my friend. He will see in time.” Odin looked to Heimdallr for confirmation, asking his friend to see forward in Loki’s time if that were possible and to console them all with the knowledge that everything would work out well and Loki would be home with them soon. 

Heimdallr had not been speaking of boredom or anger or silence. Loneliness was a shadow that had always followed in Loki’s wake, one he had not quite grown used to but one he had accepted nonetheless, and its presence in his cell nowadays would have been greatly welcomed in place of his guards. Instead, Heimdallr had spoken of whip lashes tearing strips from Loki’s back, and guard after guard ripping him open with their cocks, and come dripping down Loki’s chin even as they sewed lips shut over and over again. There was pain in his visions, terror beyond all imagining flaring within his mind whenever he focused on Loki alone, thoughts so dark and dangerous that Heimdallr wondered if Loki would ever come home to them again or if he would sink beneath the madness that called to him, the insanity that waited to rescue him from his daily horrors. Or would he, perhaps, rise up above them all and burn the world around him in vengeance, for Heimdallr knew Loki thought Odin allowed this, that Thor allowed this, and maybe Heimdallr was allowing this to continue, but they were not his secrets to tell and not his life to interfere in and Odin should have been more specific in his questions if he truly wanted answers. 

So Heimdallr nodded, and Odin turned away from him with a relieved sigh. 

_XXX_

June 21st 2013.

Months later, Heimdallr watched Sigyn sneak down into the dungeons and into Loki’s cell, and then sneak back out with the door left open. He watched Frigga, who had taken to hiding outside of the threshold that led to Loki’s cell in the dungeon, waiting and hoping that if she asked often enough, eventually one of the guards would bring her inside against the All Father’s orders. And Frigga watched Sigyn too, her hands pale and shaking, wringing the skirts of her nightdress between them, with tears streaking her face as she left the dungeons. 

Frigga followed her back to her rooms, listening to the woman barricade herself inside with the heaviest pieces of furniture that she could manage to move, before making her way back to the dungeons. The guards were not there when Frigga returned, but she had been the one to teach Loki to cast invisibility around himself like a cloak, and she called that magic to her at that moment, using it to shield herself in case the guards returned, though she was aware that Heimdallr could probably see her still. In fact, Heimdallr did watch her, unconcerned, as she made her way silently to Loki’s open cell door and peered inside. She caught sight of her son around the edge of the door, bleeding and broken and shaking from pain and fear and adrenaline. The sight of it caused her to gasp behind her hand, heart beating in her chest like a bird attempted to escape its cage. Frigga took a hurried step backwards, as if to shield herself from the spectacle of Loki brought so low right under their noses, and accidentally nudged the door with her elbow. 

It creaked. 

Loki glanced up, eyes wide, like a faun that had just spotted a hunter, and he did as all animals do in such a situation. He ran. He was on his feet in an instant, knife in one hand and handcuffs dangling from the other, and in a flash of green (before Frigga could call to him, before she could stop him) Loki was gone. 

Frigga ran soon after, grown sick of the sight of blood and the stench of sex and the crippling fear that flooded the room like a fog, choking her if she breathed in too deeply. She went to Sigyn, desperate to ask her what she saw, if she had seen who had done this and to thank her for freeing her son from his slavery. Half way there, the alarm sounded, and Frigga, worried about Sigyn’s part in all of this, and her own for she too had disobeyed the All Father’s commands, and Heimdallr who had stayed silent through it all would bring punishment down upon himself if he remained as such, suddenly changed her mind. When Sigyn opened her door, hesitantly, with shaking hands, Frigga did not glance behind her at Fargo who had appeared at the end of the hallway with Odin. 

“Loki Laufeyson has escaped,” Frigga told her trying to sound angry. She succeeded, only because she could feel Fargo’s smug smile burning into the back of her skull, pleased with her at the use of the derogatory surname the Council members had come up with during the last Odinsleep when there had been no one around to dispute them. 

Sigyn stared at her Queen, her ex-mother in law, and she read the words the woman’s lips spoke to her. But in Frigga’s eyes, Sigyn read something else. There was happiness in that gaze, though her lips drew tight in anger as Fargo approached them. 

Sigyn pressed her hands against Frigga’s, just for a second before Odin drew his wife away, following after Fargo and the other Council members who were beginning to appear. Sigyn watched them make their way to the grand hall, and she contemplated whether to go with them, like many of the other Asgardians would do, but in the end she shut herself back in her room, thinking of Loki and all he had suffered and of Frigga and all of the things she had read in her eyes. 

“Thank you,” Frigga’s eyes had told her, “thank you for saving my son.”

“You’re welcome,” Sigyn’s hands had replied in lieu of her mouth, pressing lightly against a set of equally trembling hands before drawing back to clutch at the doorframe. “Please don’t tell,” her fingers whispered as they squeezed into the wooden frame, until the tips of her hands had turned white from the pressure. 

Frigga told no one she had seen Sigyn in the dungeons, though she was quick to accuse the guards of torturing and violating her son, quick to rage in Odin’s face that his commands had resulted in their son suffering for all this time, without them one of them could have checked up on him. She was glad Loki had escaped, she said, alluded to the fact that it was she who had rescued him, when blue eyes that were once brown hissed venom into the All Father’s ears, insisting Loki could not have escaped alone. Thanos wanted to see someone punished, but Odin would not punish his wife any more than he would physically punish himself. He was glad Loki had escaped, though he did not say as much. Instead, he pretended to be angry and bid Heimdallr call Thor back to Asgard so that they could search for the escaped prisoner. 

The Council were silent, but pleased, blue eyes all of them narrowed with victory and hands clenched tightly behind their backs, standing the same, speaking the same. The guards around them with blue eyes and similar poses, all controlled by the one mind, the one will, yet no one noticed but Loki. 

Frigga took the blame for Sigyn’s actions, and Odin punished her as one would a woman of her status. The more important the woman, the easier the punishment, and though he appeared angry when he backhanded her in front of most of the citizens of Asgard, that was not what Frigga felt from his touch. The hand that struck her face was soft and light and she had to hide a smile as she forced her head to snap back further than it was meant to go with an exaggerated cry. “Thank you,” the skin had whispered to her own skin, thoughts and words and feelings slipping from one to the other through the skin of a palm upon her face. “Thank you for saving my son.”

And though she trembled meekly at his feet afterwards to appease the Council and the guards that called for her treasonous head upon a pike, the blue eyes that glanced up at her husband through a fringe of blond hair said silently, “It is now your turn to save our son.”

Odin went to Heimdallr. The court followed him, as did Frigga, and they stood and they waited on the edge of the ruined Bifrost as Heimdallr took the Tesseract from Odin’s hands and called Thor to him. 

Thor fell to his knees in horror at his mother’s accusations. Though the Council and the guards (and Thanos) denied it and demanded Loki be brought back to face the rest of his sentence, Thor demanded, “No. Let him be. He has suffered enough.”

Heimdallr was inclined to agree with the Prince, but he answered to the All Father alone, though when Odin questioned him it was with that faraway look in his eyes that meant he didn’t really want to know the answer. Heimdallr thought, then, that it would be a kindness to lie to him, though it was not really lying because Odin should have been more specific in the first place. So when Odin questioned him, Heimdallr shook his head repeatedly, to each question and each accusation from the crowd and each plea from Frigga (because if he told her the truth it would be used to hunt Loki down and hurt him, and he was plenty hurt as it was). 

So he said nothing to no one, not about Sigyn or Frigga or Loki, because these were not his secrets to tell either, though he smiled widely as the Council raged about Loki’s escape. He was curious and confused though a day after his interrogation of sorts, when each of the guards collapsed in a flash of blue light, followed by each of the Council members. He could not explain what had happened, nor could anyone else for that matter, and in an attempt to find out he sent his sight through the Ygdrassil, searching all of the worlds for answers. He did not stop until he found Loki, hurt and shaking on Midgard, in the arms of a sorcerer. It was not what he had first been searching for, but it was answer enough; no matter what had happened to the Prince, all would be well. Eventually. 

And this was not his secret to tell either. The human’s business was not his to interfere in, and he would be good for the trickster, so Heimdallr held his tongue once more, only watching occasionally as the rest of this year passed and then the next and then the next until Thanos had once more set his sights on Asgard and Loki and it was then and only then did Heimdallr finally spill the secrets that were not his to share. But it was in Asgard’s best interest, in Asgard’s defence, and Heimdallr had always put the safety of his world above others’ privacy.

And it was also in Loki’s best interests and for his protection, and the protection of his lover and the children and for the Wizard in London who waited for Loki’s sorcerer to return home. So Heimdallr felt no guilt for calling Odin and Thor to his side and telling them exactly where Loki hid. He did not tell them everything, because some things needed to be seen to be believed, and it would be amusing to watch as they tried to figure it out for himself. 

_XXX_

July 7th 2015. Anchorage, Alaska.

When Thor landed on Midgard, he did not do so subtly. Nor did it help that by his side, Odin stood tall and proud with Gungnir held tightly in his hand, one end digging into the dirt and the other pointing to the sky, as Mjölnir made thunder rumble overhead. 

The snow around them shifted, trembling from the force of their landing, and if they had been on a mountain it probably would have caused an avalanche. People, dressed in skins and furs and leathers that covered everything but their faces, watched in curiosity and confusion. The majority of them didn’t watch the news, because only a few places in the small town had television reception. Some recognized Thor as an Avenger, but most didn’t, and none knew who Odin was, except for one dark haired woman who froze as if Medusa had caught her gaze. She watched them, eyes wide and terrified, from the other side of the road, and it was only Thor’s booming, “which of you have captured my Brother?” that had her jumping into action. With one hand pressed over her stomach, and the other pulling her hood down over her face, she turned and made her way hurriedly back up the driveway and into the house she had just exited. 

“What’s the matter?” A dark haired man with green eyes asked her as she closed the door softly. 

Once more, when the fight or flight instincts come into play and the body is given a choice, Loki chose to run. 

“We need to leave, Harry.” She took the dark haired boy from him, before carrying him up the stairs and away from the door. Outside, in the street, Thor continued to call for Loki and Odin sent his ravens searching for a man with black hair and green eyes, while a woman who looked exactly the same apparated away with her lover and his son. 

**XXX**

* * * 

Thanks again everyone. I know it’s short. But I felt it needed to be included. Let me know what you thought, and Harry and Loki will be back again next chapter. Yes, we will be skipping back to 2013 and the alley in New York (I wouldn’t be cruel enough to take the story up in 2015 and leave you all wondering at their life). And wow. Are these chapters getting longer and longer? This was supposed to be about a thousand words, if that. Wow. Also. CRAMPS! Yay!


	4. Part 04

Hey all. This chapter is for “Me the Mighty”, a guest at FFNet, because their review for chapter 3 was awesome. I took your advice by the way: lots of chocolate :P There are some notes at the bottom, just to clear a few things up. If I PM’d you, then you’ll already know, so feel free to skip it. 

Also, to those who don’t know. I’m on tumblr, and occasionally post previews of chapters (you know, when I’m not procrastinating) :P AislingSiobhan at TUMBLR :D Feel free to follow me. 

* * * 

**Words:** 8,837  
 **Chapter 4**  
June 21st 2013. New York City. 

“What the fuck?” 

There was anger in Harry’s voice. If it had been anyone else hissing words like that at him, Loki would have reared back, waiting to be stuck or set upon by his guards caught in the throes of anger or lust. But it was Harry. This man who sounded so angry, who was angry _for him_ , not at him, was the same stranger whose arms he had just been sobbing in. This man who could have attacked him like the other Midgardians had on that other street, but instead asked if he was ok, and had comforted him and held him in a way no one had for such a long time. Loki couldn’t even remember the last time he had felt as safe as he did then, for those scant moments held in Harry’s arms. 

Loki snorted; amused at the way Harry was glaring at the stitches upon his mouth. He reminded Loki of a mother wolf protecting her young, growling and threatening, but never moving in case the danger came between them. 

Harry’s hand was stretched out before him, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to touch the stitches, couldn’t bring himself to prove them real, because who would do something like this? Lord Voldemort was known to torture and degrade, but not like this. Punishment was for punishment sake in the case of his Death Eaters, but brief while painful, and never permanent. And for his enemies it was intended to send a warning, that none other should dare cross him for fear of meeting a worse fate, but it was done and over with and the person was put out of their misery with fairly little blood split, as the Dark Lord preferred to torture with magic instead. But Loki looked as if someone had taken him, blank and beautiful, and painted a masterpiece across him with his own blood. Pain and fear and grief blurred around the edges of the God’s gaunt face and burned in his green eyes, and Harry met them with his own, chin held high and jaw tense. 

“What happened to you?” Harry questioned voice quieter now. 

He finally touched upon the other man’s mouth, feeling the strange texture of the thread that wasn’t ordinary. Harry could remember feeling it before, remember touching something similar once before, on the day he had hunted down the rebels that had killed his first son, and he had laced up his battle robes, pulling tight at the dragon heartstrings that closed the gauntlets over his arms and kept his robes from slipping down his shoulders. That was what it was, Harry realised. Dragon heartstring. Like the length of black cord that had fallen from Draco Malfoy’s wand when a rebel had snapped it in half. Draco had kept it, Harry knew, and wore it around his wrist knotted together with the cores of the wands he had taken from all of the rebels he killed. Harry had asked after it once, asked why he did it, and Draco, who had always been such a coward in school and so childish and naive even as a Death Eater, had admitted it helped him to see them twisting against his flesh. The memories burned in his mind, he’d told Harry once, the sight of the cores reminded him of every one he’d killed in the Dark Lord’s name, if he remembered them all, if he never forgot, then he couldn’t lose himself the way Bellatrix and Barty Crouch Jr and the Carrows had: they reminded him to always be a man, not a monster. Harry had reached out to touch it, fingers brushing over the thick black like thread, but denser, and knew it was the same as what had laced his gauntlets and his robes and his trousers. He traced his fingers over Loki’s mouth, and knew again that it was the same as what sealed the God’s mouth shut. 

“You are magical,” Harry whispered, just in case a Muggle happened to stumble passed the mouth of their alley. No one but a magical being would have access to a dragon, nor to the ingredients procured from one. It was fortunate, Harry supposed, because he didn’t think taking Loki to a Muggle hospital would do either of them any favours with the police or the press, especially considering Harry’s job. 

Being magical meant that Harry could bring him to St. Cyprian’s. St. Cyprian’s was a few minutes’ walk away, back up Broadway and onto Broome Street, but it wouldn’t be too far to go, and Harry was planning on disillusioning Loki anyway. 

Loki didn’t react to Harry’s statement. He blinked green eyes slowly, one eyebrow rising, as if asking Harry if he were being serious or particularly slow. Because of course everyone knew he was magical. He was Loki of Asgard, and he had come to this planet to subjugate them. 

“Right, well, I’m Harry Potter. You can tell me your name when we get those stitches out of you, k?” Harry held out a hand, and Loki grasped it firmly, eyes wide at the thought of finally, finally having his lips free for good. “We better get you to a hospital, huh? Before you end up with any more scars.”

Loki jerked back as if burned. He wrenched his hand from Harry’s hold, using them to brace against the wall behind him so he wouldn’t fall back down onto his arse. His naked back scraped against the wall, and he hissed behind his cruel gag. Dark hair flopped limply around his face as Loki shook his head, no. He didn’t want to go to a hospital. Barton had told him about CCTV and how if Loki looked at certain machines called cameras important government people could find him instantly, no matter where he was. Barton had told him that lots of places had this CCTV, the building in Stuttgart, the SHIELD Helicarrier, Stark’s tower, banks, businesses… hospitals. If he went there, he would be found and captured. He couldn’t be, not again, never again; he wouldn’t survive it a second time, not after having a taste – the briefest of tastes, like sprinkles of water from a tap just turned off, struggling weakly to fall upon his tongue, but it had given him a _thirst_ for it, for freedom – and he could not go back to being that tortured, trapped person Thanos had made him. 

He wouldn’t survive it again. 

“Hey, hey,” Harry tried placatingly, holding his hands warily out towards Loki, “it’s ok. No one is going to hurt you; no one will even see you I promise. I’m going to make you invisible ok? And it’s not like I need to go out of my way anyway, I’m heading there myself. I need a check-up for the baby, so we can go together, and I’ll sit with you and you can sit with me, deal? We’ll stick together, the whole time, I promise.” Harry smiled widely, calmly, and hoped Loki wouldn’t notice that he was lying. 

Harry had gotten good at lying since marrying the Dark Lord, though they had made no secret as to why Harry looked like he was barely out of his twenties – dark magic, they had told all who asked, but never had they flaunted the Hallows, because Harry hadn’t understood and Voldemort had known all too well what happens to those who brag about the Elder Wand – but they had lied about many other things in their fifteen years together. ‘I’m fine’, was the biggest lie Harry had ever told his husband, followed by, ‘I’m not pregnant’ and ‘It didn’t work this time’. They were the only lies Voldemort had never called him up on, maybe because the man also believed the potion had failed, or maybe because he had hoped too that Harry was fine, that he himself was fine, and that all things would end well. But Harry had left shortly after, and though he was now six months pregnant, he hadn’t returned. 

Loki either hadn’t noticed the lie, or was too busy freaking out to care, but he was shaking his head frantically, finger nails scraping against the wall at his back as if he were trying to claw his way up, up, up to freedom. Out of the alley, away from Harry, and the fear and the pain and the knowledge that soon he would be caged again, tortured and broken, and nothing this kind human said would be able to prevent it.

“Hey,” Harry whispered, reaching slowly to cup Loki’s face. The man shoved him back, a scream muffled by stitches tore from his throat, like an animal wounded and fearing death, and Harry landed with a groan on his backside. His own hands came quickly to grab at his stomach, and though he had lied about having a check-up (because St. Cyprian’s was actually where he was heading home from), he figured he’d better have another to be safe. Even if Loki didn’t go with him. 

“Hmmmh,” Loki whimpered, one hand with its long fingers pointed at Harry’s belly. 

“It’s fine. Good thing I was heading to the hospital anyway, huh?” Harry grinned wryly, one hand on his stomach and the other scrambling at the ground to help hoist himself to his feet. “Six months pregnant, so, yeah, a little help, please?” Loki reached for his outstretched hand and helped pull Harry to his feet. “I really need to get to the hospital.” Loki shook his head, pointing at the baby and the floor before wringing his hands anxiously in front of his own stomach. “Oh, I’m sure it’s fine.” It was, because Harry made sure to always cast as many protective wards around his stomach as his magic could sustain now, especially after what had happened during his last pregnancy, but if guilting Loki into the hospital was the way Harry had to get him there, then so be it. 

“Ah!” He cried out, pretending at an unexpected pain shooting through his abdomen. His hands clutched over his bump frantically as he practically bent in half, panting loudly. 

Loki was there suddenly, eyes wide, and hands clutching warily at Harry’s shoulders, pushing him towards the mouth of the alley as if demanding Harry go quicker. 

“I don’t think I can walk alone, it really hurts!” Harry whimpered, sounding more pitiful than Loki felt. 

Loki did not understand why Harry would keep this thing inside of him, which he obviously wanted to do if he were headed to the hospital now. Mortal hospitals, it appeared, could sometimes prevent miscarriage, and that was what Harry looked like he was having. Just like with Loki, hands to stomach, cries and whimpers in his throat, while his stomach rolled and his insides ached and parts of him that weren’t supposed to be there bled away cramp by cramp. This man, who had been kind to him, who had wanted to heal him and promised to get the stitches out, who had held him and stroked his back and hair and felt so good pressed against him when Loki had long ago stopped seeking out comfort or intimacy; Loki had harmed this man and his spawn, and the least he could do was see them healed. 

Loki walked with him, one arm around Harry’s waist steadyingly, and the other held tightly by Harry’s own hand, squeezing with every gasp of the pain the man released. St. Cyprian’s was a small, squat building, shoved between a Laundromat and an Accountancy firm, but whose doorway shimmered and blurred before the eyes of any Muggle to look upon it. Harry led Loki towards it, into the wide sprawling foyer, filled with healers and medi-witches and -wizards and hard, plastic chairs, and white walls, and sick people. The moment the door closed behind them, blocking out the Muggle world, Harry’s healer, Mary, was before him, frowning worriedly. 

“Hey, Mary. Someone tortured my friend and sewed his mouth shut with dragon heartstring, but he doesn’t like hospitals, so be careful with him ok? Thanks!” Harry grinned widely at her. He unwound Loki’s arm from around his waist, but held on to the handcuffed wrist that had already been seized firmly. Harry was standing straight again, no longer panting or whimpering, and he didn’t seem to be bleeding either, Loki noticed, leaning back to try and spot a dark stain on the seat of the other man’s pants.

“Hmm?” Bloody lips questioned, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I’ll sit with you and then you sit with me, deal?” Harry asked with a wide smile on his pretty mouth. 

Loki blinked, surprised that the Midgardian had managed to trick him for that was usually his forte. But then his lips turned up, skin pulling tight and painful as he smiled, and he pulled his hand from Harry’s so that he could clap, slowly and softly, before offering a half bow of acknowledgement. 

“You’re not angry then?” Harry questioned, leading the way to another Healer, one who dealt with victims of Quidditch gone wrong because really, what could cause worse damage than smashing face first into the ground from a hundred feet in the air at 90 miles per hour? Not much, Harry knew from experience, and Loki certainly looked like he’d gone a few rounds with the Slytherin beaters from Harry’s school years. And lost. Repeatedly. 

_XXX_

Harry lived in a modest flat near the corner of Delancey and Chrystie Streets. It wasn’t much, but the window at the front of the flat looked out over a small park, and occasionally Harry liked to stare out of the window and imagine his child playing there in a few years’ time, while he sat on a bench like the mothers he was watching, gossiping and reading trashy magazine while keeping a close eye. Harry had bought it for the view, because it was the first high rise he had come across with access to the roof and no pest infestations, but right now, all of the stairs were becoming a major thorn in his side. Loki had one arm around his waist again, and Harry led him gently up each staircase, floor by floor until the finally reached Harry’s door. He couldn’t apparate while pregnant, otherwise Merlin knew he’d already be inside with his feet up on the coffee table and the television playing something redundant and loud. But Loki was afraid of the elevator, and honestly, Harry was a little too, because the last time he’d used it (two months ago) it had broken down with him inside of it. 

“Ok, last chance, Loki,” Harry said, still getting used to twisting his tongue around the strange name. It sounded exotic and dangerous, but just as odd as Remus or Fleur or Nymphandora so Harry hadn’t scrunched up his nose the way Ron had the first time they had met Draco when Loki introduced himself at last. “If you’re secretly a mass murdering nutcase who is planning on suffocating me in my sleep and then laying alien eggs in my bed you need to let me know, ok? Cause I watch a lot of sci-fi shows, and weird shit happens in them all of the time, and I need to know who I’m letting in my house!” 

Harry was grinning when Loki glanced down at him. The taller man swayed slightly on his feet when Harry moved away from him to fumble with the door lock. But Harry held his eyes, and though he didn’t know who Loki was and didn’t know the horrors Loki had wrought upon his country and the evils he had committed and suffered through, this man had invited him to live at his home with him until he was healed and on his feet. This man deserved the truth more so than anyone Loki had ever encountered before, and so with a deep, unsteady breath, Loki told him:

“I am dangerous. I have killed many people and I have regretted very few.” 

“Who hasn’t?” Harry asked, offering up a self-deprecating half smile as he nudged the door open with his shoulder. “But you’re not planning to lay alien eggs in my bed right, cause that’d be gross!” He grinned again, wide and lazy, with green eyes glinting to show that he was only half joking, but he held the door open anyway until Loki passed through it. 

“No, I plan to lay no eggs,” the God promised, though he probably could if he shifted into his falcon form. Not that he planned to have anything like that within him again though, not if he could help it. But he couldn’t stop himself from offering a smirk of his own, teeth shining as he teased, “Though I may have to wait until you have birthed and lay alien eggs of my own within you.”

Harry paused, one hand on the remote and glanced back over his shoulder at Loki. Mouth dropping open, eyes narrowing; Harry looked like he was caught halfway between laughing and hissing at him, and Loki felt a laugh unlike one he’d experienced for many years bubbling up within him. Instead of holding it back as he might have done before others, he allowed it to fly free, loud and resonant and _happy_ , and Harry laughed softly with him. 

“Right, well at least you have the courtesy to wait until this baby is out of me. More living space for your alien eggs, though, I suppose?” 

Harry flicked on the television, and Loki came to sit beside him on the couch for a moment, just for a moment, and he murmured, “that was my evil plan, yes, Harry,” just before his eyes slipped closed. 

He was snoring softly moments later, and when he woke up he was in a bed, sheets bunched around his legs and hands pinning him down, holding and touching and confining, and though he couldn’t feel them yet, Loki knew they were there waiting, naked and hungry for him, and he screamed at the thoughts of their hands on his flesh, of their essence within him once more. He kicked as he screamed, eyes squeezed closed so that he wouldn’t have to look upon them as they brought him to ruin. He threw his arms up, knocking the hands off of his shoulders, trying to remember at least some of the dream he had had, of the man with green eyes who had cared for him, but the hands were back, pressing and a voice was shouting, and Loki lashed out with magic. 

His eyes snapped open as green fire came from his fingers. His wrists were unadorned and his mouth had been able to open enough to scream, and a British accent was cursing in the corner of the room as the fear trickled slowly from Loki’s mind. 

“Harry?” He whispered into the darkness. “Are you real?”

“Yes. Fuck. I’m real. Fuck, what the fuck!” A dark head poked up from behind what was left of the dresser-drawer in Harry’s spare room. It was a box, tiny, and filled to bursting with the bed and dresser and wardrobe (or, now, what was left of the dresser), and Loki glanced wildly around, sprawled in the middle of the single bed, huffing loudly as his heart raced. 

“Did I hurt you?” He asked, eyes cast down at his hands, and the sparks of green that danced beneath his nails waiting to be utilized. But he was safe here, Loki reminded himself, trying to remember how to breathe while drowning, and he kept reminding himself until his hands were pale once again and no longer glowing. 

“No,” Harry answered honestly. The first time Loki had kicked at him Harry had cast a _Protego_ : he had made it so that he could shake Loki awake, but Loki couldn’t touch him. He brushed off dust and wood splinters from his clothes, shaking them out of his hair as well. Loki watched, eyes moving from Harry’s scowl to the man’s stomach, and he winced. “Don’t worry; you didn’t hurt the baby either.”

“I-” Loki began, before trailing off awkwardly. He licked his lips nervously, glancing up at Harry from beneath his fringe. “Would it not be better to lose it now? Before you become attached to it?” As Loki did Sleipnir, days _after_ he was born, and the foal had become a continuous reminder of what he had endured and a shame he had to forever live with. Regardless of how much Loki loved him now, he couldn’t deny that there was a small part of himself who wanted to change all that had happened: to have not made the deal in the first place, nor led away Svadilfari or become impregnated. Or perhaps that someone might have found him sooner and removed the child painlessly before it could grow. 

“How can you keep it inside of you and do nothing? How can you allow it to grow when you have the means to make it stop?” There were tears on Loki’s face now, fat and wet and painful to look at, but Harry stared at him and them, hands over his bump while Loki sobbed. “To allow them to do that to you? To fight back then but allow this now?” As Thanos’ men had done to him. Then left Loki bound without the means to abort it himself. “To allow them to win, to have claim over you and your body. How can you bear it, within you, how can-” 

Harry’s arms were around his shoulders, and Loki pressed his face to Harry’s throat gratefully, glad to be able to hide the tears that kept falling. He felt weak and pathetic, but Harry didn’t scold him or tease him. He held him softly, hands ghosting lightly over the healed skin of his back, and then through his hair, still lank and greasy because he had fallen asleep before he could ask to bathe. But Harry stayed silent through it all, until Loki finished sobbing, and began to pull away slowly. 

“This child is my husband’s. I don’t love him, but I’ve been married to him for a very long time and I care about him. He cares about me too, probably more like a child than a lover, but we were forced to marry by circumstance and politics. But we chose to have a baby together, our first son. I would have named him Orion, because he would have been the brightest star in our universe. Tom, that’s my husband’s name when he chooses to answer to it, was just as pleased as I was. When we announced the pregnancy, it was during a rebellion, and coincidence would have it that they attacked again the first time I left my home in almost a year. I lost my child.” Harry whispered the words slowly, his lips pressed to Loki’s cheek, because the man had stopped pulling away as Harry began to speak. 

The dark haired God thought back to the dream he had shared with Hela. He remembered the small child with familiar green eyes, and his chest ached at the reminder. 

“He was mourned.” Loki whispered, suddenly feeling guilty for not having cried over the loss of Thanos’ child the way Harry had obviously cried for his. 

“Very much so. And when I realised I was pregnant again I was so afraid the same thing would happen, and so I ran away. I’ve been hiding here for about three months now. I work on Howard Street, and sometimes they send me over to Manhattan, and I live here in this crappy apartment beside a crappy park, and I’ll stay here until my baby is born and until I think it’s safe to go home. And no, Loki, it would not be better to lose this child now. Because now, or later, I love my child the exact same amount and I would mourn my child. But, I think,” and Harry leaned forward slowly then, to pull Loki back into his arms, blinking the tears from his owns eyes as Loki’s fell heavily against his throat, “the difference is that I decided to conceive my children and you were not given a choice.”

“I didn’t want-” Loki gasped softly, mouth moving wetly against Harry’s neck as he spoke. Tears mixed with saliva as Loki spoke rapidly, telling how he fought back, how he ran and was caught and pinned and taken, and of how he was caged and bound and gagged and taken, over and over again, because this time one sacrifice of his body had not been enough, and Harry could only make out every other word as Loki muffled them against skin. 

“I wish to shower!” Loki demanded suddenly, wrenching himself out of Harry’s grasp roughly enough that his nails scrapped across Harry’s arms and made him bleed a little. Loki darted out of the room quickly, slamming the door behind him. 

“Oh, um,” Harry was left sitting on the edge of the bed with little dots of blood along his arms, like someone had dug their nails in and held on for dear life, afraid that if they let go they’d fall and never stop, until their grip had been ripped forcefully away. 

There weren’t that many rooms in Harry’s flat, so he figured that Loki had found the bathroom, but it took ten minutes before the shower turned on but it was electric and Harry always left it set on a happy medium so at least it wouldn’t freeze or scald Loki when he managed to work it. Harry busied himself leaving out some of his own clean clothes. He used magic to enlarge the trousers, because Loki was taller than he was, but his maternity-style t-shirts would probably fall to the man’s thighs anyway, so Harry left him one pair of pants but a selection of tops and some underwear he had bought but never taken out of the packet. 

Harry was asleep when Loki came out of the bathroom, skin red-raw from rubbing at it for almost two hours. The water had stayed warm, unlike on Asgard where it turned tepid after minutes of sitting in it, and Loki had lost track of time as he tried to scrap every reminder of his fourteen months in prison out from under his skin. Blood and semen and whatever else had coated him had washed down the sink, but Loki could see it still, on his thighs and his stomach and dotting his chin when there was too much for him to swallow, and so he had taken Harry’s toothbrush and brushed out his mouth till his gums were bleeding. There were clean, borrowed but unsoiled, clothes on the bed when Loki stepped back into the bedroom in nothing but a towel. He had heard Harry’s snores once the shower had switched off, and deemed it safe to walk back to the room. If Harry had still been awake, feelings of safety or otherwise, Loki would have chosen to sleep in the bath than face another man in such a state of undress again. 

Loki stayed with Harry in relative peace. Harry went to work in the mornings, and came to find Loki cooking or cleaning or reading, anything to keep his mind away from the memories. They were friendly, watching TV or listening to the radio in mostly silence with a few sarcastic comments aimed at the host, and they ate together, though Loki never left the flat so it was always whatever he cooked or what Harry brought home. When Loki had a nightmare Harry woke him by singing, voice getting louder and louder progressively until Loki woke up because touching him when the God was like that just meant that more of Harry’s furniture would be blown up. They talked too: of Asgard, and Godhood, and magic and Hogwarts and Muggles. But they never spoke of Harry’s child, or any of Loki’s children, not for another month. 

_XXX_

July 30th 2013. New York City. 

He came awake to the feeling of fingers running through his hair. 

It was an unusual way for Loki to wake up, because after a nightmare Harry had taken to singing him awake and during his confinement the guards had found many ways to startle him into wakefulness that were never as comforting as this was. There was no sense of fear now, just the pull of knots catching around Harry’s fingers and occasionally on the strange gold ring with the black stone he wore. Loki didn’t feel the urge to panic or run or struggle. There was something soothing about lying like this, across the sofa with his head pillowed in Harry’s lap; though the last position he could remember being in was leaning against the opposite arm of the couch with his legs tucked to his chest. 

He must have fallen asleep, Loki realised, and fallen onto Harry. It felt too good, too new, for Loki to want to give up the feeling right then, but Harry didn’t seem to have noticed he was awake yet. So Loki laid still, eyes closed and breathing even, as Harry continued to pull his left hand through Loki’s hair. Every breath Loki took pressed his cheek against the swell of Harry’s stomach, and tiny feet kicked against his face, and Loki found his hand moving up without permission to cup the bump that suddenly didn’t seem so abominable. 

“Sleipnir did that too,” Loki whispered, with his eyes still closed. 

Harry chuckled softly. He reached forward over Loki to grab the remote and switch the television onto mute. “Yeah,” he replied, leaning back again, “this little guy likes to beat me up at least once a day. Mostly when you’re around though,” Harry admitted, shrugging his shoulders when Loki glanced up at him. 

“Oh,” the God murmured. He looked back down, eyes on the green of Harry’s t-shirt and what was covered beneath it, and he pressed both hands forward eagerly, waiting to feel another kick. “I hated it when Sleipnir did it. It felt like, like someone had opened me up without permission and put something inside of me, had taken something out and made this big, dark hole, and filled it with something of theirs that didn’t belong. And I had to carry it, and feed it, and care for it, as it leeched off of me and kicked and twisted and hu- _rt_.” He choked off, before taking a deep, loud breath and clearing his throat. “And I couldn’t say anything or cry or scream, because horses didn’t do that; they don’t talk or…” Loki blinked his eyes rapidly, fighting the wetness that gathered at the corners. 

“I went back with him, afterwards. Sleipnir. I waited a week in the woods with him, because it took me three days to want to touch him and look at him and _see_. When I looked at him, really looked at him he was so beautiful that I didn’t want to share him with anybody so I kept him to myself for a few more days. **Father** ,” Loki spat the word out like it was poison, “told me I was too young, too immature to raise him alone, so he took Sleipnir away. A mare in the stables nursed him and I visited for a while until Odin forbid it. He told me I was growing too attached, told me that nothing good would come of it, because Sleipnir was unwanted, a mistake that simply couldn’t be rectified because I hadn’t come to him in time, and so I should forget about the horse. Odin called him a horse, Harry. A horse! As if he was not my son. And I know I hadn’t wanted to carry him, and I know I wished that I had lost the foetus early. But afterwards, after his birth, _I_ wanted him, and I was not let to have him. Would it have been kinder to us both if I had lost him early?” Loki glanced up warily, unsure suddenly of why he was saying all of this, and how Harry would react to it, because Harry desperately wanted his son and Loki had talked about wishing to miscarry his own, and that seemed so wrong suddenly, so cruel, and Loki was afraid that it would make Harry hate him. 

“Your father was wrong, Loki.” Harry’s voice was calm and soft, and Loki found his eyes slipping shut again as fingers began to wind anew through his hair. It was safe and comforting and Loki lost himself in the feel of it as he continued to talk. 

“I had two children by a Frost Giantess. They were both born monsters, but they were mine. My children. I did not carry them, but I would have kept them also if I had been allowed.”

“Did you love them?” Harry asked genuinely curious. He had heard the stories of the swamp wolf and the world serpent in passing, and he wondered briefly what it was about them that made them so dangerous, so much so that Odin had cast them out of Asgard and out of Loki’s life. 

“Of course I did!” The God reared back, eyes narrowed onto Harry’s smiling face. 

“Then they can never be monsters if they are loved, Loki,” he whispered, still smiling. 

Loki glanced warily at him, wanting for something though he didn’t know what, but when Harry simply remained silent he glanced away and began to speak again. His hands were pressed tight to Harry’s stomach, savouring every twist and kick the child made, and he thought back to Sigyn and Hela as she grew inside of his wife and how he had held his hands to that bump too. 

“I did this with my wife too, you know,” Loki admitted after a long silence. “When Angrboða, my mistress, was pregnant, I wasn’t really around. She lived on Jötunheimr and I was of Asgard, and we were enemies, but I had seduced her and she had become with child. The children would have been killed on Jötunheimr if anyone realised I had sired them, but at the time I had thought Odin loved me as his own, and foolishly I had thought he would accept my children as his grandchildren, like he would have Thor’s should they have existed. He took in Fenrir, and all was well. For a while. I continued to visit Angrboða and she fell pregnant a second time, and it was when I was with her, to collect Jörmungandr and bring him to Asgard too, that everything changed. Mother had a vision, that Fenrir would rise up during Ragnarök and kill the All Father. Odin sent men to hunt him down, _my son_ hunted through the trees as I was by Svadilfari and no one tried to save him as no one had tried to save me. And when they caught him, when they-” Loki took a deep breath, trying to force down the anger that churned in the back of his throat like bile and the hate in his stomach like lead weighing him down. 

“They chained him away and I never found out where. I killed all those who had hunted him, each of them, though I tortured them for information first and killed them only when I realised they did not know where Odin had sent Fenrir. Afterwards, after I had done this, Odin called me to him, told me so calm and sure that it was not my fault the children were monsters and that he loved me but that he had sent Jörmungandr away as well.” 

“Loki,” Harry breathed, his voice strained and shaking. 

The God continued to talk as if he hadn’t heard Harry beginning to speak, and Harry let him, because he knew that if Loki stopped now he’d never talk about it again. It was like an old wound, left alone to fester, but the scab needed to be torn away so that the injury could heal for good, clean and uninfected, and talking about it had always helped Harry feel better any time his friends had managed to _make_ him talk to them.

“Sigyn’s mother had become pregnant in Alfheimr. It is a land of elves and fey, nymphs and dryads, but Sigyn never found out what her father was. She looked completely Æsir. But our daughter,” Loki snorted, because comparing Sigyn to Hel was laughable. They were like night and day, two completely opposite ends of the spectrum, one normal and the other inheriting both her father’s Jötun heritage and her grandfather’s, whatever he might have been. “She did not love me, but the first time I meet her I was infatuated. She was so beautiful and kind and when she laughed it was like wind whistling through wind-chimes. She turned down Thor, you know, and I think that was what had me so intrigued. No one ever turned down Thor. It was so bad sometimes, the way he would always steal the attentions of maidens, that when I wanted sex I would take my female form and lie with men just to not have to worry about the men paying more attention to Thor than me too. I tricked her into marriage. She hated me for it, I think, but we have grown friendly since.” 

Loki stopped for a moment. The child had stopped kicking, so he had pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing at the lines on his face left by Harry’s clothing and his own fingers. 

Harry’s hand was now resting lightly on Loki’s thigh. At first the man had cast it a startled glance, but when Harry made no further movements (just a warm press through denim, there, safe and sincere) Loki turned his eyes back to Harry’s. 

“By Asgardian law, all marriages must be consummated and carried on for the period of a year. After that year has passed, the woman has the right to request an annulment from the All Father on the grounds of improper treatment to herself or her children, and though she had become pregnant on our wedding night I had never treated either of them badly and Odin refused. The husband, however, could be rid of his wife simply if he was bored of her. She had begged to be rid of me, and they had refused her, and so I asked instead, to keep Hel and leave Sigyn and it was granted. She loved me a little for that, for giving her freedom back. She loved Hela too, but they were so different, so wrong for one another, and I spent most of the child’s life raising her in place of her mother. She has her own world now; I conquered it for her the same week I overheard Odin talking to the Council of how Hela was too different to remain upon Asgard. She is safe at least, and I can visit her in my dreams and when she chooses to let me come to Helheimr in person. Sleipnir is Odin’s war horse, though it hurts to look at him, humiliated and debased, treated like an animal though he understands and feels as a human does. I have not seen Jörmungandr or Fenrir since they were cast out. I do not even know if they are alive.”

His throat hurt, and he cleared it loudly even as Harry conjured water into their empty glasses and held one out to him.

“You’ve been so brave.” Harry murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to Loki’s forehead. 

“How?” He asked incredulously. “I am a coward and a monster! I let him take my children and I failed them. And then I let those– them –use me, take me when I was not willing and I could not escape without Sigyn’s help! That would never have happened to Thor or the Warrior’s Three or Odin! I am weak and pathetic and useless. I always have been, Harry, even as a child I could not fight half as well as the others. All I was ever good for was my magic, and Odin took that away from me as part of my punishment. Without it I was defenceless and worthless, but I was never brave.”

“You can’t be brave if you’ve only had wonderful things happen to you.”1 A hand was squeezing over his own, and Loki’s fingers shook in Harry’s grasp. It was warm and strong and Loki squeezed back desperately. “When I was a child I wasn’t very strong either. My uncle used to hit me a lot and my cousin and his friends would beat me up whenever they could catch me, so I got very good at running away. Some people might not call that bravery, but every night I had to go back and face being punished for running in the first place, and every morning I had to force myself out of bed knowing it would all happen again that day. But I did it, over and over again, and I felt weak and helpless and useless but I grew up to save the world, Loki. Being brave isn’t about saying stupid things to hide your fear, and it certainly isn’t about being strong or fearless, because only fools are never afraid. Being brave gives you strength to overcome your past so that you can dictate your future.” 

Harry pressed another kiss to Loki’s face, smiling sadly. “I bet your brother has never been in a position where he has been made to feel true fear, has he? I knew a boy like him once, his name was Draco and he thought he was the best of the best and he used to bully me and some of my friends, but don’t get me wrong we gave it back to him. When the war started, he fell to pieces. I was used to it, the fear and the pain and the hatred, but he had lived nothing but days of comfort and love and safety and he spent a year living in the shadow of something, someone, so terrifying that he was afraid to breathe. And he called me brave afterwards for marrying that someone. Perhaps I was. Perhaps it was bravery that made me go through with it, to protect people I cared about, to end a war by marrying Tom, but I told Draco he was the braver one because he had had to live with the fear every day, like I used to as a child, and he kept living, kept facing it. Like you are, Loki. Courage is not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.2 Do you think Thor would have had the strength to let me touch him if something like that had happened to him?”

“I don’t mind you touching me. You make me feel safe. It is your magic I think, it called to me the day you appeared at the mouth of that alley, sang to me.”

“I could feel yours as well,” Harry told him softly, squeezing his hand harder around Loki’s, before moving the other to cup Loki’s cheek. “Peace is a journey of a thousand miles and it must be taken one step at a time.3 What saves a man is to take a step. Then another step.4 So today it’s me. In a year’s time a stranger who hugs you on the street or a casual acquaintance at work perhaps. You flinch when I touch you sometimes too, you know, and in your sleep you tense up if I walk into the room to wake you. You could be in the middle of a nightmare, thrashing around screaming, but you fall still the second I open your bedroom door. But that’s fine. That’s normal. I sleep lightly too, because of other horrors, but no one expected me to get over them in day, Loki, and no one expects you to either. You try. That’s what bravery is all about.”

Loki was crying again, deep, heaving sobs that shook his whole body. But for once he wasn’t ashamed of that fact, because Harry was right. He had been through more than any one person deserved to be put through and no one he knew had ever experienced anything similar so they didn’t have the right to judge him. And so what if his skin still crawled sometimes, like maggots moving beneath the flesh until Loki showered and scratched at them until his flesh bled. And so what if he couldn’t sleep through the whole night without waking up screaming, because Harry had nightmares too sometimes and that was fine because Harry was the kindest, bravest person Loki had ever met, braver than Thor even because what had Thor done that could compare with Harry marrying the murderer of his parents to end a war? Nothing, that was what; Thor had caused wars and killed people, but he had never sacrificed himself so wholly, unlike Harry. So if Harry could be afraid and have bad dreams and cry himself to sleep sometimes, then why couldn’t Loki?

“Thank you,” the God whispered, ignoring the tears on his cheeks whereas before he would have been struggling to wipe them away faster than they were falling. “Thank you,” he breathed against the scar on Harry’s forehead as he pressed a soft kiss over the puckered skin. 

Harry didn’t say anything, because honestly, Loki had nothing to thank him for. Instead, he brought his arms up to hug Loki around the shoulders, loosely though until Loki pushed forward into his embrace and then Harry held him tightly, separated only by the swell of his own stomach, and he rocked the God back and forth lightly, both of them feeling lighter than they had in a long time. 

_XXX_

September 9th 2013. Miami, Florida. 

Loki hadn’t felt comfortable staying in New York, especially after reports of ‘alien invasions’ started featuring on the nine-o-clock news and everyone started speculating that it might have been his fault. So they moved to Miami. It was too hot for Loki, but it was far enough away from New York for him to feel comfortable living there until after Harry’s child was born. 

St. Mortimous of the Sickly was a better magical hospital than St. Cyprians anyway, and Loki hadn’t liked the sound of the hospital in Texas. So, Florida it was. They lived, now, in a nice but expensive condo on Biscayne Boulevard Way, but they had a nice view of the Bay though they had to travel over forty minutes to get to St. Mortimous’ on SW 3rd Avenue. Fortunately, Loki’s magical transportation method wasn’t the same as apparating, and he wasn’t above being used as a cosmic taxi when Harry started having contractions that morning. 

It was fast and easy, much easier than Sigyn’s labour had been or the stories Frigga told over birthing Thor, or his own labour for that matter. They had numbed Harry’s pain and cut the child out of his stomach and then sewn him back up as they had the lashes upon Loki’s back, with a wave of a wand and a flash of light, and there was not even a scar left to prove it had ever happened. 

The child was small, because Harry was small, but he was healthy with pale skin and dark blue eyes that would soon change colours, and Loki knew because he had dreamed that night of the child by Hela’s side disappearing that this child would have the very same green eyes his mother had. A tuft of dark hair on his head and pouty pink lips completed the picture, the little image of his mother in Harry’s arms, and Loki found himself huddled over the couple on the hospital bed, crouched over Harry’s legs and kneeling by his side, so that he could see down onto the child’s face and lean forward to accept every happy kiss that Harry pressed to his forehead in between kisses upon the child’s face. 

“What are you naming him?” Loki asked. He watched the child with reverence, awed by its existence and the love he could _feel_ coming off of Harry for it in waves. 

“Well,” Harry said sounding resigned, “he’s definitely a Potter. Just look at that hair! So, he can have my surname. Tom can change it later, if he wants to, but I doubt it, because he usually just goes by Voldemort, or Duke Potter when he’s with me.” He glanced up at Loki, green eyes bright and mouth pulled into a wide smile. “You name him. You’re as much a part of this as I was, or Tom was, and you had no reason to be other than you chose to be. So you name him. It is my gift to you, to repay you for being here through all of this, no matter how uncomfortable it made you.”

Loki swallowed heavily, forcing his heart back down out of his throat, and he thought about it. Voldemort was, from what he understood of what Harry had told him over the last three months, a King of sorts for the magical world. Harry was his consort, a Prince in his own right, with money and titles and land to his name. This child was their heir, not Loki’s no matter how much he loved him too, and the child would inherit all that his parents had, all of his parents’ fame and glory and honour too, and he needed a name befitting that. A name that would, also, show how he was treasured by them. 

“Rig, I think for a middle name. It means King, in my language. In Æsir,” Loki added, because he didn’t actually know what many Jötun names meant, nor did he consider it his language either, but he wanted Harry to be clear about that regardless. “And for his first?” Loki stayed silent for a moment more, considering what name would suit this child best. “Eileifer,” he decided on at last, speaking surely and directly at the child, “it means ever-heir, or always-descendant, in your language. And he is, isn’t he? Forever?”

“Always, Loki. No one will take this child away,” Harry promised. _Not like they took yours_ , went unsaid, but Loki nodded his head in agreement to the silent promise and kissed Eileifer’s head gently. “Remember, how you told me of your annulment from Sigyn? The marriage could be ended after a year?” Loki nodded slowly. “We have something similar. I need to return to Tom before the second week of March or our marriage is automatically annulled. He has not come looking for me because he knows I am alive, and he probably thinks I’ll come back soon. And I would have gone back, Loki, I was planning to, but then I found you and I didn’t want to leave you alone. But if I don’t, the bond I share with him will break, and, I, I’m afraid he’ll think I’m dead. He might think me kidnapped these last six months, but at least he knew I was alive.”

“Could he find you through Eileifer?” Loki questioned, sounding concerned. He was worried that the Dark Lord would take the child from _him_ , not Harry because Harry had a right to his son, but Loki had no rights, no reason to be involved, and he was terrified of being left behind and alone and forgotten, unwanted once more. 

“There are ways I could hide him. But I don’t really want to. Tom deserves to know his son too.”

“I do not want you to leave me. Either of you.” It was little more than a whisper on the wind, so soft, so desperate that Harry had to strain to hear it and hearing it hurt his heart. He reached out for Loki, pulling the man down to sit beside him on the bed, and Loki laid his head on Harry’s shoulder and whispered, “Please.”

“Ok. We’ll wait until March. Just for a little while.” 

That night, Harry had Loki help him cast the _Fidelius_ Charm on Eileifer, and Voldemort was none the wiser for the time being. Harry and Loki took care of the child, their child as far as Loki was concerned, and for once the God felt like he was part of a family, that he belonged and was welcomed and not just a spare part. Though he knew it was cruel to deprive the other human of his son, to deprive Harry of his husband forever, Loki was a selfish creature at heart, though loyal to those he cared for. Unfortunately, sometimes those emotions came hand in hand, and loyalty to this child meant that he was selfish in keeping Eileifer close and Harry closer.

Mid-March came and went, but Harry stayed with Loki. 

**XXX**

1 – Mary Tyler Moore: “You can’t be brave if you’ve only had wonderful things happen to you.”  
2 – Nelson Mandela: “Courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.”  
3 – Lyndon B. Johnson: “Peace is a journey of a thousand miles and it must be taken one step at a time.”  
4 – C. S. Lewis: “What saves a man is to take a step. Then another step.”

* * * 

Though I don’t see how I was unclear, moving on.

1: Loki is the woman in the last chapter. Harry is the man in the house she was talking to. Lady Loki is his female form, he takes it on a lot during the comics or whenever he wants to trick someone. He even dressed Thor up as a woman once and went along as Lady Loki to steal back Mjölnir one time. Only three people guessed why Loki was female now, but they didn’t really guess it all (so I told them), but I think I’ll let the rest of you be surprised. Four people ACTUALLY guessed, so kudos to them! 

2: The child was Harry and Voldemort’s. He was 22 months old in the scene at the end of the last chapter. No, Voldemort doesn’t know about him yet. 

3: The guards spent most of their time in the dungeons, and before that they were part of the Asgardian army. Do you hang out with whole troops on a regular basis when they should be working? No. So no one really noticed the change in eye colour. Similarly, Odin was in the Odinsleep for a year, so he didn’t notice the Council’s eyes changing colour. Most Vikings have blue eyes anyway, so only a few peoples’ would have actually physically changed colours. 

4: Heimdallr only shares other peoples’ secrets to prevent threats to Asgard. Loki being tortured did not become a threat to Asgard until 2015, which was the first time Heimdallr told Odin where Loki was (Alaska). He did not tell Odin about the torture: Frigga told Odin. He did not tell Odin when Loki escaped, the guards did. 

5: These are actual Viking punishments. They rarely executed, but preferred to torture and main. When exiled you were no longer considered a person, and anyone could do anything to you without your consent and not be punished for it. None of this has happened to Loki before, because Odin was unusually lenient when he punished his sons. I’m sure he’s sentenced many people to this sort of fate before and not given a shit. So, no, I’m not doing it because I’m sick and twisted (though, I am, don’t get me wrong). 

6: The Council. Why does Odin listen to them? Have you seen the Queen trying to run England without a Parliament lately? It used to work, back before King James and the death of the Tudors, but now it doesn’t. Similarly, Loki and Thor are not fit to rule yet, and Frigga is a women, considered by Vikings as little more than a possession of the family, and Odin is old and apparently sleeps a lot if they can actually make preparations for him to fall unconscious (as Frigga says in “Thor”). The Council are trusted to rule in his stead and to make decisions in the benefit of Asgard that Odin will not make because they affect him or his family. Generally, they aren’t possessed by Thanos, so it usually works. 

7: Voldemort. Seriously, I need to answer this? If you had a husband of 15 years who just upped and left and you knew he was alive for a while (because of the Horcrux) and then you couldn’t feel him anymore, wouldn’t you want closure too? That is why Voldemort is waiting for Harry. Not to marry him again, or tell him he loves him, or ask about a child he doesn’t know exists. He just wants to know if he should bury an empty coffin or not. 

* * * 

I think that was an unnecessarily long author’s note, but if I’m asked these questions again, I won’t reply. These will be answered, for the main part, in the story in time anyway. So, you could just wait and read them then?

Thanks. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! :)


	5. Part 05

Hey all. Sorry this took so long, but to be fair, I did say I wasn’t going to be around much for the next month! Hope you enjoy the chapter regardless. I have this story pretty much planned out, and it’s going to be at least 15 chapters, but more than likely closer to 20. Excited? 

* * * 

**Words:** 10,550  
 **Chapter 5**  
March 18th 2014. Miami, Florida.

It was silly of him to be crying, Harry knew. He had brought this on himself after all, and so he didn’t have the right to feel sorry for himself or expect pity or sympathy from anyone else. But he cried anyway, with his hands pressed over his mouth and his knees drawn up to his chest as his shoulders shook. His wedding band, the resurrection stone and the Gaunt ring that once belonged to Voldemort, that once houses a piece of his husband’s soul, was missing from his ring finger. Now, it was clutched tightly between his hands and mouth, an unforgiving bite of cold metal against trembling lips that whispered unheard apologies over and over, and over again. 

Loki watched him, leaning casually against the doorframe, though the tight set of his mouth was anything but. Eileifer was sleeping, tucked up warm and safe inside of his cot, in the room Loki had decorated with magic to look like the Bifrost before Thor had destroyed it. Loki stood, half on the roof and half inside of the house, bigger than the small apartment in New York, but still with access to the roof and the stars and the sky because Harry was free when he was flying, and he watched in silence as Harry cried over the dissolution of his marriage. 

“I am sorry,” Loki whispered when Harry’s hands moved, finally, to wipe away the tears on his face. “I am sorry that I ruined your marriage. That I made you stay with me.” 

“Fear ruined my marriage, Loki,” Harry whispered, without looking at him. His voice was half hoarse, and he had to stop to swallow heavily half way through the sentence, but then he spoke again, surer than before and sadder all the same. “You didn’t make me do anything. I did this. Because I was afraid, when I left him I was afraid, and I stayed away out of fear, for myself and for Eileifer and then for you. And I was too afraid to go back, because he might have been angry, or I would have missed you, and because you were afraid and I didn’t want you to be. I was scared that leaving you, that leaving, would do more harm than good. No matter how much I want to go home, Loki, I don’t want to leave you behind, but I was afraid to bring you with me. I was afraid to leave without you. I did this. I’m to blame for this, not you.” 

Harry turned then, looking away from the brightest star in the sky, the one that always held his attention the longest, and he glanced warmly over at Loki, eyes puffy and cheeks red. The breath caught in Loki’s throat when Harry smiled at him, wide and sad, but happy (to see him, to be with him, to know him, even at the expense of his husband). “Fear ruined my marriage, not you. And it’s ruining your life too, you know.”

Loki glanced away, heart jolting up into his throat for a moment before he managed to swallow it back down. He couldn’t argue with that; what Harry had said was true, the end part at least because Loki still believed that he was at least partly at fault for the annulment of Harry’s marriage. Fifteen years, wasted, because Loki had been too selfish to let the other man go, and his selfishness, his greed, was the fault of himself alone regardless of Harry’s fears. But yes, Loki was afraid too. He woke every morning, in _his_ room in _their_ Miami home, and the first thing he did, before dressing, before showering, or eating, or fully waking, was slip into Harry’s room to make sure the man had not left him in the night. And then he would check on Eileifer, the child of his heart who was not his, not really. And it was while watching the baby snuffle against his pillow in sleep, almost hungry enough to wake, but just about content enough to remain dreaming for a few minutes more, that Loki considered the sentiment bursting within his chest, swelling and consuming with every breath the child that was not his took, and he _believed_ that niggling voice at the back of his mind, every morning without fail, that whispered that perhaps Odin had truly loved him as he had claimed. 

Loki had not believed him then, after he had first discovered the truth of his parentage, nor later after he had been evicted from the throne of Asgard. Then he had been so unwilling to believe, so unable to comprehend that Odin could have loved an offspring of Laufey of Jötunheimr the same way as he had loved Thor, that Loki had chosen death instead of his continued existence of lies and never-belonging. Even after all of that, after the Chitauri and Midgard, Odin had not abandoned him, had not exiled or disowned him, regardless of what the majority of Asgard’s citizens probably wanted him to do, but Loki had still not believed his not-father. Through the torture and the pain, though all of his old family had been absent those fourteen months, Loki could remember Thor pleading for mercy on his behalf, and his mother’s anger and determination in her attempt to protect him from defilement; almost every word was seared into his brain, and though Odin called him ‘son’ even after everything Loki had done and destroyed, he had not allowed himself to believe, to trust, in the love one could feel for a child who was not their own. 

But watching Eileifer until he woke from hunger, Loki understood. Little by little, with each sun that rose to Eileifer’s waking cries, and each one that set as the child slept soundly under Loki’s watch, nestled in Harry’s arms, like ice cracking and falling away, something loosened inside of Loki’s chest. Perhaps he had never been as loved as Thor had been, nor as favoured. And though he was no less insecure, or resentful of having been lied to for so long, or afraid, Loki thought of the depth of what he felt for Harry’s son, and he thought of Odin, and he knew that he _had_ been _loved_ nonetheless. 

But this realisation made him no less afraid. 

Nor any less hateful or bitter. 

Loki had been afraid for those months he had lived in New York, refusing to go outside in case anyone recognized him and attacked him again. Now that they were living across the country, he had yet to walk farther from the house than the front garden, and that was only so that he could bring Eileifer to play outside on Sundays when Harry took it into his head to clean the house from top to bottom and wanted Loki and the baby out of the way. When neighbours stopped to speak to him, Loki flinched at the sounds of their voices, ducking his head down as if to hide himself behind the child he was crouched beside, or if they had already been out for long enough, he would scoop Eileifer up and rush back inside, straight to Harry who would sing softly to them both as he dusted the bookshelves and television stand and windowsills until Loki’s hands stopped trembling. It had been nine months since he had escaped from Asgard, and in those nine months only two people had been allowed to touch him: one was a child, one he loved and cherished as much as he did his own children, and the other was the man who had given up everything to help piece the shattered bits of himself back together again. 

It was pathetic, somewhat, though Loki knew Harry understood his fear and his reasoning, but Loki was sick of being afraid. Sick of knowing that he was holding Harry back, his fear of other people stopped him from attending the garden parties and tea parties and book readings and bingo nights they had been invited to regularly for the past six months. Harry wouldn’t go without him, and Loki wouldn’t go at all, and so neither of them had anyone but each other for company. Harry still worked, researching and typing away on his computer, or interviewing by phone, or occasionally leaving Eileifer and Loki alone for a day so that he could fly out to interview the important people in person, and Loki watched him sometimes on TV or read his pieces in the paper and his heart ached because Harry was a people-person, and it was unfair of Loki to confine him to such a lonely existence. Harry was a person who had spent his childhood alone because everyone was too afraid to befriend him, and then when he had finally made friends he had outgrown them (or rather they had out-aged him), and now when he had the chance to start all over Loki was holding him back, keeping him caged with jealousy and fear and need. 

“I am sorry,” Loki whispered again, swallowing back the guilt that threatened to choke him, and the fear that Harry might grow weary of him and leave. “Let’s move again?” He suggested, stepping forward without hesitance to grab Harry by the shoulders. Harry’s arms stayed by his sides, his ring clutched tightly in one fist and the other pressed to his pants leg to stop himself from touching Loki back. “We can start over, and I’ll try harder, I’ll make an effort. I can get a job, maybe, and make friends? Like you said before, step by step, right, and there must be colleagues if I am to experience accidental brushes and bumps from colleagues.”

“That sounds nice,” Harry said softly, a small smile pulling up the corners of his lips. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to move, and selling property through magical agents was a lot faster than doing it the Muggle way, and he didn’t really want to stay here anyway. While the house was lovely and the people were friendly, and the weather was beautiful (though uncomfortably warm in Loki’s opinion), this was the place where his old life had died and his marriage had ended and a piece of his heart had broken. But he could build a new life, and make a new home, and one day, someday, Harry would go back to Voldemort and apologise and beg for forgiveness but until then he could have this new family, because Loki appeared to be more than happy with their current arrangement. 

So they moved west to New Orleans, into a nice little house near the Bayou with a garden out back and a wooden porch complete with a swing that none of them could get near. Loki’s first friend was actually an alligator that had appeared once morning stretched across the swing’s seat with its tail beating against the floorboards of the porch with every movement like a dog wagging its tail. It snapped its teeth at them if they came too close, the same way Loki flinched still when Harry moved too fast, but other than that the creature was content enough to commandeer the swing and left Harry alone to set up two rocking chairs on the other end of the porch for Loki and him. There were spells that kept the animal out of the house, and dissuaded others of its kind from following this one’s lead, but Loki rather enjoyed the idea of having a man-eating reptile as a pet, especially one that reminded him of himself: wary and volatile, but content in Harry’s presence, but no less dangerous if one forgot with what they were dealing. 

After a month of trying to leave the house alone without panicking, and eventually succeeding, Loki got a job as a– chef would imply too much – _chef_ in a small café in town that made sandwiches and soup and occasionally gumbo (once he got the recipe down). But he liked to cook, and staying in the kitchen meant he had little contact with anyone other than his boss (a portly man with a moustache and a wide smile who liked to check up on them all at least twice a day) and two of the waiters (both of whom were teenagers and happy enough to spend time together and leave Loki alone). He didn’t make any other friends, but there were the regular customers who greeted him warmly when he was in town with Harry on his days off, and there were acquaintances from Eileifer’s parent and toddler group that he and Harry took turns bringing the child to three times a fortnight. There was one colleague in particular (an older man, who worked the coffee machine the same way a mechanic might put together an engine with one hand tied behind his back, who reminded Loki of the German man who had stood against him in Stuttgart) that went out of his way to include Loki in any out of work gatherings that took place: though he never went, Loki appreciated the invitations all the same. Then there was Harry and Eileifer and their new home, and what more did he need? 

_XXX_

May 23rd 2014. New York. 

Harry’s job was a rather strange one. Sometimes he was a journalist; sometimes he was a talk show host. He was a journalist because after the war had ended he had found out he rather had a way with words. In Britain, Harry had gone into politics, proud and sure at the Dark Lord’s side, silvertongued and world weary, and in America Harry wrote articles for the Times newspaper. They started off about every day bits and pieces, the weather or crime reports or speculations regarding the scandals of famous people, and then, after a particularly unexpected run in with Captain America and some photos that had ended up on the internet, Harry got promoted to a job that was more along the lines of a talk show host his second month in the country. He’d interview people in front of cameras when they were available or over the phone when they weren’t, and both types of interviews were always available to online subscribers. Since moving to Miami, and then New Orleans, with Loki, Harry had grown used to the simple printed articles again, the ones he had started out with. Occasionally, the Times would fly him back out to New York, because certain people simply had to be caught on camera. 

Tony Stark was one of those people. 

Stark was larger than life, bright and brilliant, and in your face, but he had a habit of not actually answering any of your questions but no one ever realised that until they read it on paper. Unfortunately he wasn’t very fond of journalists (unless they were attractive and willing to spread their legs), but he had no problem with getting drunk and bragging the ear off of the first pretty person he met. It was a little underhanded maybe, but if the Daily Bugle could employ the only person in the State capable of catching Spiderman on camera, then the Times could catch more flies with honey- or Harry as the case may be. 

They were at a fundraiser, for something or other; Harry hadn’t really paid it much mind. He was only interested in doing his job, meeting an honest to Merlin superhero with no superpowers whatsoever, getting paid and then getting back to his family. It was fortunate for him (and the Times’ lawyers) that the gala was being filmed anyway. Anything that Harry’s undercover cameraman managed to catch on tape would simply be attributed to footage from the charity organisers being leaked before editing. Harry just had to be careful and convincing, he couldn’t slip up, couldn’t ask the usual interview questions because they’d be a dead giveaway. 

Instead, he ordered a scotch and asked the girl behind the bar to bring it over to the looker at the other end of the bar. “With compliments,” she giggled to Tony, handing him the drink. Tony glanced up, his eyes following her gaze back the way she had come, and he took in the dark haired man with eyes that reminded him of _someone_. 

Tony nodded in thanks, sipping at the drink slowly. Harry raised his own glass, downed it all in one, and then slid fluidly off of his stool. Tony waited, expecting the man to come over to him, because the stranger had hit on him first and so should be following up any moment now with some cheesy come on line that Tony would scoff at and rebuff. But, no one appeared at his side, and no more drinks appeared in front of him, and when Tony asked the waitress, she didn’t even know his name. And it intrigued Tony. He had Pepper, and he loved Pepper, but a guy just hit on him and _then walked away_ , just like that. Without doing anything, or saying anything, or wanting anything from him, and that wasn’t the way things worked, that wasn’t how his life was. Someone always wanted something from him. People chased after him. But, apparently, not this time. When Pepper came back from the bathroom, Tony’s suit jacket was still hanging over the back of the chair she had left him sitting in, and two empty glasses were on the bar beside some loose change, but Tony was gone. 

“Hello Mr Stark,” Harry said softly, glancing coyly at the man from under his eyelashes. Tony had ‘caught’ him on his way to the bathroom, grabbing him by the arm and spinning Harry around until he was pinned between Tony and the wall. 

“What’s your name?” Tony asked. He lowered his head, mouth parted slightly, and Tony glanced at Harry’s mouth as if debating whether or not he should kiss him, and behind them a fairly nondescript man in a loose fitting suit streamed them live from his iPhone. 

“Harry.” The younger man tilted his head up, getting a better look at Tony. Stark was handsome, in a rugged way, with a goatee and messy dark hair and large soulful brown eyes. There was something on his chest, shining through the fabric of his shirt, and Harry reached out slowly to press his fingers against it. “What is that?” He knew what it was, because he had read about this man shortly after he had moved to New York, but he didn’t know what it did or how it worked or why Stark hadn’t had one of his superhero friends fix him up yet. 

“It’s my heart,” Tony told him, with a sly smirk, “would you like a closer look, baby?” 

“I don’t think your girlfriend would appreciate that,” Harry grinned as he spoke, looking over Tony’s shoulder at his colleague. “And anyway, if I was on Facebook, my relationship status would read it’s complicated.”

“But there is a relationship?” Stark asked, his eyebrow arching up, though he did back out of Harry’s personal space. 

Harry nodded, thinking of Loki whom he had given up his life for. He had known the God for eleven months now, and though neither of them had attempted to start any sort of relationship, they cared for each other, and Harry at least loved the other in a way that he had never felt for Voldemort. Whether it was reciprocated was another matter entirely, but, because Loki was probably watching this as it happened, and he was still insecure and Harry didn’t want him thinking that he was planning to run back to Manhattan with Tony Stark, the Wizard grinned widely, looking at the camera rather than the Muggle as he said: “Well, I left my husband for him.”

Tony looked him up and down, taking in the sharp cheekbones and the brilliant green eyes that made his breath catch in his chest, and the expensive well-cut suit and the barely there curl of his hair just around his ears. “I must say, whoever he is, he’s a lucky man.” Tony clapped him lightly on the back, carefully as he does every time he makes that motion since meeting Thor (who still almost knocks him off of his feet with every pat on the shoulder). “I believe, Harry, it’s my turn to buy you a drink. That is, if you don’t mind a little flirting?”

“A little flirting never hurt anyone,” Harry agreed lightly, offering a half-smile in return for Tony’s 100-watt grin. “I’ll have a vodka if you’re buying.” 

“Ice or mixer?” Tony questioned. He led Harry back to the bar with one hand on the small of the other man’s back. They took seats beside Tony’s earlier position, though his old chair was taken and his jacket was now folded up behind the bar.

“Neither, thanks,” Harry said. 

“Oh it’s like that then, is it? Goody.” Tony waved over the pretty blonde girl who had given him Harry’s drink earlier. “One scotch on the rocks, and one vodka, neat. Actually, make it two of each, thanks.”

Pepper found them two hours later, Harry half-drunk and Tony nearly out of his mind. She chided them both, and Harry helped her half drag Tony to his car outside. He didn’t tell her he was a journalist, or that everything they had spoken about had been streamed online and would later be picked apart by someone else in editing and remade into a story about how fortunate it was that Harry, who had been ‘doing a piece on the fundraiser’ happened to run into Tony Stark. Harry allowed her to thank him for keeping Tony out of trouble, and feeling bad for letting Tony drink so much, he handed over a small vial of hangover remedy, figuring it would be ok to test the boundaries of the Statute of Secrecy this time because the guy hung around with Gods and science experiments on legs and legalised assassins who fought magic on a daily basis. 

There hadn’t been anything in particular Harry was meant to interview Tony about; they were just supposed to talk, about anything and everything, because everyone wanted to pick apart Stark’s brain and no one ever could. So Harry talked, and Tony listened at first, and then when he was drunker, Harry couldn’t get the man to shut up. But within those two hours, the Wizard found himself growing fond of the Muggle, prideful and arrogant though he was, and beneath that as lonely and broken as Loki had been when Harry found him first, and Harry didn’t want to cause him unnecessary pain because it seemed like the man had lived through more than his fair shares worth already. So whenever the conversation took a turn for the maudlin, Harry took great pains to steer it away, avoiding topics that would surely embarrass the billionaire once he sobered up, but he laughed along with the horror stories of bad dates and failed experiments and of supervillians out of control, like Doctor Doom and the Green Goblin and Adam Warlock, and when Loki’s name was mentioned Harry sat up straighter and narrowed his eyes. 

In New Orleans, with Eileifer on his lap happily sucking on his own fingers, Loki watched Harry flirt with the Man of Iron who had defeated him and the army of Chitauri. He wasn’t angry, even though he gripped the edge of the laptop with his free hand so hard his knuckles turned white, because neither of them knew each other, so it was not as if they were being friendly to punish him specifically. And Harry was working. Loki had seen Harry work before, of course, smiling and laughing with people on live television, shaking hands and hugging and kissing on cheeks, but this was different because it was Anthony fucking Stark pressing _his_ Harry against a wall with their mouths millimetres from touching, and Iron fucking Man nuzzling drunkenly against Harry’s neck as _his_ Harry helped him into a car, and _his Harry_ listening attentively with narrowed eyes as Stark’s liquored tongue spewed venom against him, detailing his invasion and defeat and shame. 

Loki wasn’t angry. 

He was jealous, yes, because though he had no entitlements to Harry, no one else could have him either and he hated watching Stark’s hands travel across Harry’s back and he hated the way Stark’s eyes stripped Harry of his clothes, but, as always, he was also afraid. Because though he had once told Harry he was a murdered and a monster Loki had never detailed as to how and Harry had never asked. Now, there Stark was, miles away from Loki who could not stop this from happening no matter how he wished he could, and Loki feared that with every word that dripped from Stark’s tongue that Harry slipped a little further and further away from him. 

_XXX_

May 24th 2014. New Orleans, Louisiana. 

Harry was barely back in the State for two minutes before Loki appeared before him with his arms crossed angrily over his chest. Harry had apparated onto his front porch, with a small duffle-bag in one hand and copy of the footage in the other. He walked passed Leatherhead,1 stretching out one hand warily to pet the alligator’s tail before opening his front door and heading inside. Harry closed and locked the door, throwing his keys down on the table beside the umbrella stand (that he had sort of stolen from Grimmauld Place at one point because it reminded him of Tonks). 

“Honey, I’m _home_ ,” Harry called, drawing out the last word until it sounded like he was singing. 

Loki appeared then, in a flash of green light, wearing nothing but a tracksuit and a scowl. “There is nothing complicated about our relationship,” he informed Harry promptly, with his arms still folded across his naked chest. His hair was wet from the shower and curled at the nape of his neck, and Harry followed the water droplets with his eyes as they disappeared beneath the waist band of the trousers Loki wore. 

“What relationship?” He asked stupidly, trying to think what Loki might be talking about. He glanced up at Loki’s face then, taking in the scowl and the drawn brow, and then tried desperately not to watch another droplet of water caress the distance between Loki’s left eyebrow and his jaw. 

“ _Our_ relationship, of course,” Loki told him with an eye-roll. He took three steps forward, so that they mirrored the position Tony Stark had been in with him the night before; Harry backed against the wall and Loki leaning down over him, arms beside his head and eyes pinning him in place with their intensity. “This ‘Facebook’, what is it? And why does it complicate our relationship?”

Harry smiled then, warm and amused, and there was a fondness in his eyes as they met Loki’s that made the God’s heart thump heavily in his chest. “Oh,” Harry softly whispered, trying not to laugh and upset the trickster, “that relationship.”

“I do not approve of any relations with that man. He is not someone who, he, I do not wish-” Loki trailed off. He licked his lips nervously, glancing away from Harry at the sound of a baby cooing. Eileifer cooed again, and then fell silent, content to wait for his mother to come to visit in his own time. In the silence, Loki closed his eyes tightly and pulled away. “What he told you of me… it… I can explain.”

“What he told me of you was a one sided story, Loki. No one makes opinions based on one set of facts, well, no one with common sense anyway. Yeah, what he told me worried me, and I was frightened of you, _for_ you, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Everyone makes mistakes, and everyone does bad things at some point in their life. And while whatever happened to you was horrific and should never have happened, it happened. You were punished. Not one person has the right to say you deserve to be punished further, not one person gets to stand up and say you didn’t get what you deserved, except I will, because honestly? You didn’t get what you deserved. You didn’t deserve that, you deserve so much more, so much better than that, but only you can let yourself have it. I’m here, and I’m willing to give you that, Loki. But you’ve gotta be willing to accept it, or you let them win; you let them be right about you. They bring you down to their level and they _make_ you the monster. You gotta rise about your past, heal from it, let it guide you. Every time they pull you down, because they will, they’ll keep trying again and again to pull you down into the muck and the dirt with their kind, you gotta keep rising up.” Harry offered him a half-smirk; a quirk at one corner of his mouth. 

Loki watched him speak in silence. They still stood in front of one another, Harry with his back pressed against the wall still, but Loki had moved away from him, though he kept his arms out as if to stop Harry from trying to leave. But Harry didn’t move at all. He kept his hands by his sides, arms flush to the wall, fingers gripping the edges of his suit pants to keep from reaching out touch, because Loki still didn’t like being touched. 

“What goes up must come down, is that not the saying?” 

Harry chuckled softly, tilting his chin up so he could look straight into Loki’s eyes. “But who says when you come down, you have to fall?”

Loki thought about it. He thought of falling from the Bifrost, and he compared himself to a dog: when dogs fell, they fell hard, as did giants because the bigger you are the harder you fall. And then he thought of cats, who always landed on their feet, twisting in mid-air and landing shocked and afraid but uninjured, and they always seemed to strut away as if they were better than you, because you had thrown them or pushed them and tried to make them fall, and they had, fallen, but they had got right back onto their feet and left you behind without retaliation because you simply hadn’t been worth it. And maybe that was what Loki should have done from the very beginning? Not retaliate. If he had let Thor’s insults and Odin’s favouritism and the Asgardian’s insults slide like water from a ducks back, he would not have tried to destroy Jötunheimr. He would not have chosen to fall from the Bifrost if he had not taken Odin’s disappointment in his actions as disappointment in himself and sought to hurt him in return. He would not have met Thanos, nor been tortured by him after his failure to overthrow the earth if he hadn’t been so willing to _hurt_ others as he had been hurt, to destroy and burn and crumble just to prove himself better than those who cowered at his feet. And he had fallen so very far, into the abyss and the muck, brought so low by the actions of others because he was a dog, feeling too much and snapping at the jaws and pulling at his leash until he was chastised and then he stewed, snapping and biting and barking, before being put down like an animal without mercy. 

But if he had been a cat, which was actually one of his other forms though he obviously shared little characteristics with the animal in particular, he could have done things different. Without the falling and the hurting. 

He could have landed on his feet. 

But he still could, Loki thought as he continued to watch Harry in silence. This man had picked him up off of the floor, healed him and sheltered him and asked for nothing in return. Loki gave nothing of worth back to him, not that he knew of at least and yet Harry continued to give selflessly: his husband, his son, his home and life, all shared or scarified for Loki’s happiness. Harry had heard all of the misdeeds that the Iron Man knew of, and some of those that Thor had shared with the Avengers, and he had come back with an open mind and an open heart and waited patiently without asking for Loki to share his side of the story. 

So Loki told him: of Asgard and what he had done to Thor, of the Destroyer in New Mexico, and then of Jötunheimr and the Bifrost. He spoke of falling and being taken apart piece by piece by Thanos and put back together in the wrong order so that nothing made sense to him anymore except the _need_ within him, and he hadn’t even known what he needed, but Thanos had told him it was revenge and so Loki had believed him because why shouldn’t he have? That man had saved him too. But Harry wasn’t like Thanos, and Loki made sure to say that, say it twice and then three times, because that couldn’t happen to him again, not with Harry, not now that he felt like this and was finally brave enough to admit it. And Harry agreed, told Loki that Thanos was cruel and evil and a monster, and that he was nothing like Thanos, and neither was Loki, no matter what he had wrought upon the earth or the Avengers or the people of New York. When they were finished speaking, Loki left the tear tracks on his cheeks, and he swallowed heavily, thinking of begging Sigyn to continue carrying his child and begging Odin not to send Fenrir away and feeling as desperate now as he had been then, as helpless. 

“I love you,” Loki whispered, voice hoarse and shaking. He didn’t ask for anything out loud, but Harry knew. Harry heard the unspoken question, the unsaid plea. Do you love me too, Loki asked with teary green eyes, will you love me also, his jaw said with every nervous clench. 

“I love you,” Harry whispered back as he brought one hand up slowly to cup Loki’s cheek. Their mouths met then, Loki darting forward fast as a viper to capture the willing mouth with his own, and they kissed as if the world was ending, with all of the desperation and need and passion that one pours into their last ever action. No more words were said, but Harry could hear the desperation in the movements of Loki’s body; wanting to press closer but afraid to touch, and Loki could hear Harry’s laughter against his mouth, happy and breathless and kissed right out of his body with tongue and teeth and mouth that took and gave and took some more. They stayed like that, kissing furiously, until Harry’s resistance slipped, and then his other hand was in Loki’s hair, not gripping, but touching and Loki jerked backwards as if he had been burned. 

“Do not touch me!” He hissed, momentarily forgetting who he was with or where he was. 

Harry held his hands up before him, unassuming and unthreatening and Loki took a deep breath as he tried to slow his racing heart. The warmth of Harry’s lips was searing into his own, a new sensory memory that he would never forget and that almost cancelled out the feeling of a cock forcefully pushing its way inside, sliding over his tongue, and seed down his throat. It wasn’t enough, not to forget, not completely, but it was something. It was the start of something new and beautiful, the first physical step on the road to recovery, and as Harry said, it was a matter of step by step. So Loki took another step, moving forward again and this time holding Harry’s hands against the wall with his own. 

When they kissed again it was slower, calmer, but no less wonderful. Loki could taste Harry, toothpaste and coffee and magic all intermingled, and all welcomed. Loki could smell him, the comforting familiar scent slipping through his senses and through his system and he exhaled with pleasure and relief because this was no different to resting his head on Harry’s lap, or pressing both hands to the swell of Eileifer when he was still within the womb, or lying side by side on the bed after one of Loki’s nightmares while Harry sang him back to sleep. This was Harry and him, Loki and Harry, and though they were kissing, nothing had changed. He did not wish to be touched, not yet, not like this in the body he had been so badly abused in, but he knew Harry had no real need to touch him to make them happy, because they had been happy together (safe and comfortable and loved) since their first meeting eleven months ago and a little kissing would not change that. 

They would remain safe and happy together, comfortable lying side by side as Harry sang and Loki drifted back to sleep, and they would curl up on the sofa together shoulders touching but no more than that until Loki reached over to brush the hair from Eileifer’s face and ended up with his cheek against Harry’s shoulder, and Loki would work in the little kitchen of the little café and occasionally talk to other people, and sometime in the months between May and October Loki forgets to flinch when Harry’s hands close over his waist while they kiss and he stops jerking away if Harry fists his hair or presses a thigh against Loki’s neglected erection. And when they have sex for the first time it is Loki’s idea, and Loki’s desire, and Harry needs no convincing because he knows Loki and understands him, and asking the God if he is sure he wants to do this would only have offended him and hurt his feelings and made him second guess himself. Falling naked onto the bed and telling Loki to do with him as she wills was the more pleasurable option, the one that made Loki feel in control and made her heart race with the thought of dominating from such a vulnerable position; of being full and used but still in charge because Harry writhed beneath her begging for more and for nothing and everything all at once until he was coming inside of her and she was screaming above him, shaking with the force of her own release, heavy chest heaving and thighs trembling. They would lay side by side afterwards, Loki turning into himself and towards Harry’s embrace, as he took down the silencing charm that kept their son from hearing them. 

They were comfortable and happy and safe with one another and their relationship had only strengthened as a result of the changes within it. But that was still many months from now: though it would happen, it hadn’t happened yet. 

For now, they only kissed. 

_XXX_

August 2nd 2014. Upon the ship, ‘Ravage’, in space. 

It had been some time since He had visited Asgard. With Loki’s escape, there was no reason for him to remain upon the worthless planet. But, He found in time, that it was difficult to find those who could teleport themselves at will. Loki had been the exception rather than the rule, and though he was a weakened waste of flesh, the trickster God had come in handy: his attempt to rule Midgard had been pitiful, his baser weaknesses and the sentiment he buried deep within himself was amusing and foolish in equal parts, but he had been one of the only ones who could have gotten him the Tesseract and the Infinity Gauntlet without actually needing to invade Asgard. If not for the fact that Loki had demanded the earth as payment for his ‘help’, Thanos would not have bothered sending the Chitauri there at all. Loki could have taken the Tesseract and left, activating it with his magic if he needed to, or instead using his own magic to bring himself back to Thanos’ side and then into Asgard alone. 

But the God had been vain and prideful and so full of anger and deep seeded worthlessness, the need for revenge and acceptance (though he hadn’t known the meaning of it then, and he had been made to see it since, because his parents loved him and his brother loved him and a Midgardian loved him, and he was so much more than he had always believed himself to be; he could have been so much more if he had not have fallen first) and it had driven him to the point of desperation. He had demanded the earth, a planet to rule of his own, one better than Asgard or Jötunheimr, and coincidentally there was one almost on level with the Gods that contained the Tesseract. And so Thanos had sent in his army, and watched them, while seething in anger, felled by the hands of a bunch of freaks. And Loki, so worthless, so useless, that he could not even do this one thing correctly, had escaped to Asgard and escaped from Him. Or so he thought. 

Loki had been useless and so, rightfully punished, and his body had proved somewhat diverting as well, He thought with a cruel chuckle. He would have kept the child Loki would have borne him, if not for the guard that lost control of himself, because it would have had claim to the Æsir throne and Loki’s powers of teleportation, all under His control. He had waited eons, risen from the ashes of his last defeat by the Guardians’ hands, and the one before that at the hands of Death herself (a lovers tiff, He remembered sometimes with fondness), patiently awaiting the chance to try again; a handful of years for a child to grow would not have upset his plans overly much. He had patience in spades, but he had detected the use of the Soul Gem upon Midgard, and with its powers in the hands of someone other than him, Thanos had found his patience waning. The Power Gem was in the hands of some Mutant, having been taken by force from one under his control already, and Thanos raged against its loss, his hand squeezing tightly around the Reality Gem, knuckles white and nails biting into his palm until blood ran the colour of his skin. 

He had no more time to waste, no more patience to hold to, and it was- as they say -time to shake a leg. Thanos had plans that needed to be implemented _yesterday_ , but it had taken him longer than expected to replace Loki. Now that he had, it was time to unleash her upon Asgard, and she should pray that she prove more useful than her predecessor did. 

_XXX_

August 2nd 2014. Asgard. 

Sigyn had spent the time since Loki’s escape living in fear of discovery. Though Frigga had taken the blame before Odin and the Council, Sigyn knew that eventually the woman would have confided in her husband, told her the truth of all things, and damned Sigyn. But no guards came for her, no one threatened her or threw dirty looks her way when she dared venture out of her rooms, but that did not help her relax any. 

She spent her nights, instead of sleeping, standing beside Hela in Helheimr. The little boy that used to be at her daughter’s side had disappeared some months ago, growing, she was told, as a human upon Midgard with his new parents. Now, Hela walked with the body of a baby girl in her arms, and though she was alive she did not move or make noise or grow, but Hela had said the baby spoke to her on occasion, whispered in her mind and would continue to do so until she was reborn (because children did not belong in Hell and should never enter Valhalla before their time for that was simple cruelty). 

Sigyn took her daughter at her word, uncomfortable with the planet Loki had won for her to rule, and unnerved by the dead that passed by them unseeing, and frightened by those that did see and stared and approached until Hela frightened them off. She was afraid of her daughter too, she always had been, even when she was just a babe; different and strange and so unlike anything else in Asgard that Sigyn hadn’t known what to do with her, but Loki had made good on his promise, had cared for the child alone but never stopped Sigyn from visiting when she chose to, had never forced her upon Sigyn as other husbands did their wives on Asgard. But they had been united by Loki’s suffering, and Sigyn came to her daughter nightly to ask her how he was, because she could not ask Heimdallr (who knew she had been treasonous and who knew where Loki was but committed treason himself by not saying so). 

And Hela, unresentful in a way her father never could be, happy with her life and the distance between herself and her mother not affecting her in the least for she had always had her father, did not deny Sigyn the knowledge and Sigyn was thankful for that. So they spoke, and bonded a little, and Loki’s miscarried child lay silent in her sister’s arms, even after Sigyn woke and continued on with her daily routine. 

It was that day, after her night spent with Hela where Sigyn was told that Loki had taken a lover (because though they had kissed multiple times, that night was the first that Loki would lie naked beside Harry and simply let him touch) fourteen months almost since his escape, that Sigyn let her guard down. She had been so happy for Loki, so pleased that he was able to move on and find happiness after the horrors he had been forced to suffer through. She had smiled at everyone, even those she was not fond of, and spoke to those who greeted her, even those she knew despised her for being Loki’s ex-wife and friend and anything at all because some people believed you were tainted by association. Sigyn hugged Amora when the woman greeted her happily, another of Loki’s exes, and a teacher of his, and a woman infatuated now with Thor, which had hurt Loki’s feeling terribly and made Sigyn hate her. 

But now, she had asked after Loki, had greeted her warmly and whispered, “I know you helped him escape, but I must thank you for that, for freeing him.” 

Though afraid of discovery, Sigyn had taken the thanks to heart and hugged the other woman, and it was while in her arms that Sigyn had glanced down over Amora’s shoulders and seen the knife held tightly in one hand behind her back. The knife was at her throat in the next instant and unnatural blue eyes glanced coldly at Sigyn as the woman trembled between the enchantress and the door. 

“I know you know where he escaped to.” Amora continued. The steel was biting into the pale flesh of Sigyn’s throat as she fought to swallow down her fear and remember how to scream. “You will tell me where he escaped to, or I will cut the secrets from your flesh. Tell me who he went to, woman! I know he is upon Midgard, but it is such an awfully large planet with far too many of those vermin running around upon its surface. This way is faster, and,” Amora grinned, pressing the knife down harder until two drops of blood slipped from its pointed tip and drew streaks down her neck, “if you are uncooperative, this way is more fun.”

Amora was tackled from behind, thick arms around her shoulders, wrenching her away from Sigyn who screamed as the knife slipped and cut a little deeper into her skin. It wasn’t fatal, and so she sobbed lightly, with one hand pressed down hard to stem the bleeding, and she watched with wide eyes as Thor wrestled Amora onto her back with her arms pinned above her head. Frigga was at her side suddenly, a handkerchief held out hesitantly, and Sigyn took it and pressed it to her neck. But in the time it took the nymph to thank the Queen, Amora had kicked Thor away from her, fingers glowing green and eyes bright with blue and madness. Thor hit the wall hard, groaning as he slid down it onto the floor. Frigga hovered over him next, calling for the guards at the same time, and Sigyn pointed a shaking finger in the direction Amora had run off in. 

The guards chased her. Later, Sigyn was told, as she huddled beside Frigga in the throne room with Odin and Thor and Heimdallr, Amora had been chased to the weapons vault. She had escaped the guards, but she had also escaped without her target. 

“What was she trying to steal, All Father?” Sigyn whispered, throat bruised and bloody still though the wound had been covered in gauze and a poultice. 

Odin had sighed heavily, wondering at how much he should tell her. By his side, Thor played with a ring with the dark red stone set into it. It sat upon his middle finger on his right hand, and he wore it proudly to declare himself a son of Odin, but now he twisted it as if debating whether he should pull it off and throw it away or not, and Sigyn narrowed her eyes at the sight of it. Loki had a similar one that he had worn on the same finger, though his gem had been a beautiful purple colour (the colour of royalty, Sigyn had used to tell him on the days where he was feeling lesser than Thor). She had not seen him wearing it when he was sentenced, nor when she had rescued him. She wondered if it was important, because Odin pulled a third, matching, ring from his finger, with a large white stone like an opal in it, and held it out for her to see. 

“This is the ego gem,2 created by the Mad Titan the last time he had combined the six Infinity Gems with their Gauntlet. The Gauntlet and two of its original Gems used to be protected in Asgard. The other three were scattered through the nine realms, though Heimdallr has _seen_ two of them being used upon Midgard recently, and the Titan had retained the one that was of the least use to him without the others.”

“Loki took the second with him, did he not?” Sigyn asked again, frowning when Odin nodded. “Does the Mad Titan have it?” 

“No. Amora was questioning Thor about its whereabouts earlier. She would not have asked if He had been in possession of it already. Loki is safe from Thanos where he is, if they have to search here for his whereabouts; he should be left where he is, safe. But the Mad Titan is a dangerous foe, and it took a number of us to defeat him the last time he tried to raze the Yggdrasil. Asgard alone will not be able to defeat him should he manage to find the remaining Gems before we do. We do not have much hope as it is, but should he unite the Gems with their Gauntlet he will destroy all of the nine realms and we will be helpless in the face of his desires.”

Odin was not one to readily admit mistake or weakness, and for him to say this (though it was only in the company of family, despite Sigyn’s divorce and Heimdallr not being blood related) meant that he was truly afraid. Sigyn felt sick at the thought of facing something that Odin All Father was afraid of, because she was not half as brave or half as strong or half as sure as him, and if he was scared she should rightly be _terrified_ , but she forced down the bile at the back of her throat and through the lack of air in her lungs she asked, “how can I help?”

“We must find allies. We must join together to defeat this foe before he can rise up to take any more from us.” 

He had invaded Midgard, using Loki like a puppet on strings, and He had come into Asgard and overthrown the minds of the guard and the Council, and He had taken Amora and tried to steal from them, and He had tortured and defiled his brother, and Thor was sick of all of these insults against him. He was sick of being helpless and useless; sick and tired in general and he missed the easy way things used to be. 

“I will ask mother to go to Alfheimr,” Sigyn offered, “they are friendly with her still, and they might offer her aid.”

Thor looked over at her, the woman who had married his brother and borne his child and left them both. But also the woman who had helped Loki when no one else had, who had gone to check on him despite Odin’s decree when no one else would dare, and who still kept her mouth shut about Loki’s escape unwilling to spill his secrets. Thor smiled at her, full and warm, his whole mouth stretching across his face, because she was the best woman (aside from his mother) that he had had the pleasure of knowing upon Asgard. “You will get on very well with the Lady Natasha,” Thor told her, “she is brave and true as well.”

Sigyn thought of protesting, claiming that she was not brave because she wasn’t. But she was offering her help despite her fear and she was willing to help because she cared for Loki still and he was happy at last and he deserved to remain as such. She didn’t think that made her brave: just a decent human being, but Thor had already turned away from her, addressing the All Father with his hammer raised as if he were making a vow to another God. 

Perhaps he was, she thought, as he promised to find them help. 

“I will go to Midgard,” Thor declared, “and enlist the aid of my brothers in arms there. The Avengers would surely appreciate such a challenge as this! The Mad Titan will rue the day he ever crossed us, father.” 

“Go, my son, and return to us with glad tidings. I will attempt to make peace with Býleistr.” 

Thor made no protest of his father’s desire to deal with the Jotnar. He had outgrown that childish hatred, and though the Jötuns were the enemies of Asgard, they were a race that could still be swept away beneath the Mad Titan’s rage, destroyed and annihilated as Loki had once attempted. Thor had stopped his brother then, and he would stop Thanos now, but the Jotnar deserved the opportunity to defend themselves, as Asgard planned to defend itself, as Midgard would too. Thor turned to Heimdallr, who had brought the Tesseract with him in its plastic and glass cage that Tony Stark had created to hold it, and he held it out towards Thor in silence. 

They watched, together as one big family, though there was a member missing, as Heimdallr turned the handle at the top and pointed the Tesseract at Thor. He disappeared in a flash of blue light. 

“Good luck,” Heimdallr whispered, pressing the fingers of his free hand to his lips. Sigyn copied the motion, and kept her other hand against her heart, praying for Loki. 

_XXX_

August 2nd 2014. New York. 

Tony closed the three tabs that he had open on his tablet and hung up the phone simultaneously. There was a small smirk on his face, and Bruce watched him warily from where he was sitting on the other end of the couch. The television was playing the recording of Harry’s meeting with Tony on repeat, and Natasha was watching it with narrowed eyes. 

Nothing damning was said, nothing hurtful, but it was obvious to her as she watched it that the whole thing had been orchestrated. At the time even Tony had believed it to be coincidence, and then when the Time released the newspaper article about Tony Starks accidental meeting with one of their reporters the billionaire had thought nothing of it, because there had been no direct quotes from Harry, nothing but a written down version of a recording someone had taken of their private conversation. 

Tony had considered sueing the paper, but Pepper had told him that there wasn’t much point. It had been a breach of privacy, yes, but the gala had been recording everyone themselves, and two news stations had been there recording the events for their networks, and nothing really bad had been shared anyway. And then Jarvis had found the recording on the internet, the entire meeting, from Harry buying him a drink, to Harry carrying him to his car, and the way Tony had pressed his lips to the back of Harry’s neck though Pepper had been standing right there thanking the stranger for his help. It was on the Times’ website, private access only, but Tony had paid for a subscription in Steve’s name and had a snoop around. 

And then he had considered sueing Harry instead. But he had made himself watch the recording again, taking note of the way Harry steered the conversation away from anything remotely sentimental or embarrassing, had been kind and attentful when Tony began to feel sorry for himself, and respectful and distant when Tony hit on him again, sloppy and drunk and handsy. Harry hadn’t taken advantage of his inebriated state, and he hadn’t shoved him to the ground and stalked off in disgust either and Harry had listened and really seemed to give two fucks. He had even told Pepper to take care of Tony, while bundling the man into the car, and slipping her something that had cleared his hangover right up; take care of him, Harry had said, as if he didn’t know that that was what Pepper was paid to do anyway, he’s a good man, Harry had added with a small smile uncaring that a camera was pointed directly at his face, he deserves a good woman. Pepper had looked almost offended for a second, until Harry had smiled at her approvingly and she had puffed up in pleasure and pride and slid gracefully into the back of the car and out of the cameras view. The recording cut off, and then began again, with Harry paying for two drinks, and the waitress bringing Tony’s over to his side of the bar with complements from the handsome stranger who was staring at him with intense green eyes that reminded Tony of somebody else. 

Tony had called around and searched the internet and found out as much as he could about Harry James Potter, who made no attempt to hide himself from the world (because he was hidden from the Wizards by magic and their inherent inability to adapt to technology). And when Tony set down the tablet, he picked up his private phone, ignoring the one he had been using moments ago, and he typed in a number he had just gotten off of the editor at the Times. 

“Hello?” A British accent asked from the other end of the line. 

“Hello, Harry. This is Tony Stark speaking.”

“Hello Tony,” Harry said softly. He didn’t sound concerned or worried, merely curious as he asked, “Why are you calling me?”

Tony clenched his bottom jaw as he considered calling Harry out, accusing him of lying and manipulating and breeching his trust. But what trust? Harry hadn’t known him, Harry had only been doing his job, and he had been a good enough person to make sure Tony got home safely and didn’t embarrass himself too much in the process. There weren’t many people like that in the world, especially not in the media or politics, and Tony knew far too many of the other kind of people to know that he was right about that. So, instead of being angry, Tony let out a little chuckle. 

“Next time you’re in the State, give me a call on this number.” He winked at Bruce when the man’s mouth dropped open, because all any of the Avengers heard in the last few months was how angry Tony was at Harry, and how Harry would be sorry he had crossed him. But Tony had never really been one to get mad: even yes, but never mad. “I believe it’s your round. And you owe me a hell of a lot of drinks, Harry, for that recording, I hope you know that.”

“Scotch on the rocks, right?” Harry asked after he had finished laughing loudly. In the background a child let out a cry and then started calling for his mother. 

“Right,” Tony agreed. He wondered about the child and whether he was adopted with the man Harry had been in a complicated relationship with, and whether he was envious of this or jealous or just curious.

“Then it’s a date gorgeous.” A little flirting never hurt anyone, Harry had said before, and Tony felt the corners of his lips tilt up as he flirted right back. 

Thunder boomed outside, and lightning lit up the sky, turning it from bright blue to an angry shade of grey, and Tony hung up the phone feeling uncomfortable and worried. The other Avengers had appeared behind him, and together they gathered at the window that Loki had once thrown Tony out of, and they waited. After a moment, bright blue light, unnatural and blinding, filled the sky, and something landed with a heavy thump on the roof of the Avengers building. The others ran for the stairs, afraid and angry and armed, wondering if it was Loki or a Chitauri or Doom or any other number of enemies they had accumulated in the time since their formation, but it was only Thor standing with his arms outstretched in greeting and his face full of pleasure at seeing them. 

“My friends!” He boomed as they walked closer to him and out on to the rooftop. “I have come to beg your aid. The world needs you once more, the universe as you know it is at stake-” 

Tony cut him off with a half-grin. “Don’t worry, big guy,” he said, coming closer to bump him on the shoulder in greeting, “if we can’t save it, you can be damn well sure we’ll avenge it.” And that was all Thor needed to hear to know that they would help him. He didn’t need an agreement or an argument and they didn’t need to hear his reasons. They were friends, comrades and colleagues; they were a family, and they took care of their own. 

Saving the world in the process was just a bonus.

**XXX**

 

1 – Leatherhead, an alligator from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. It was that, or Wally Gator (kinda like Yoggi Bear but with a man-eating reptile instead of a picnic-stealing bear.   
2 – Taking liberties here. The Ego Gem was, as far as I’m aware, created by Loki in the comic verse the time HE put all the gems together with the glove. Before, you know, the Avengers defeated him. Again. 

* * *

Hope you all liked it. I was a bit worried about the Tony scenes, but I think they turned out ok. Also, have you noticed there is more dialogue now? I miss my really long descriptive paragraphs, but ah well, the story must progress… 

Ok, because it actually might be a while for real this time, summary of the next chapter: SPOILERS: Sex, sex, more Infinity Gem talk, sex, Thanos, and Harry, and Tony, and Voldemort, oh my.


	6. Part 06-i

As I'm working all day tomorrow, getting reading to go out TOMORROW NIGHT, tonight, and then working/dying from alcohol poisoning (again: it seems to be a bank holiday thing) all day Monday... Have plans with the kids Tues and Weds for Halloween, cause my Mum won't take them on her own, this chapter will be.... yeah!  
You've already waited long enough. So I'm splitting it in two. Sorry for the random ending of Part I. 

* * *

 

WARNINGS: Sex, language, Loki has some sort of strange fixation on the taste of sperm; you know, the usual.

 

 **Words:** 3,586  
 **Chapter 6** Part i  
October 31st 2014. New Orleans. 

It wasn’t what Harry had been expecting when he’d headed up to bed, but it was certainly a nice surprise. Loki had offered to put Eileifer to bed so that Harry could finish writing his latest work article; it wasn’t due for another week, but having it out of the way was sort of an essential part of Loki’s plan though Loki hadn’t let on to what he was planning. Looking at the man – well, no, woman actually – now though, Harry could probably guess why Loki wanted to free some time up.

“Hello,” Harry offered softly, the corners of his lips curving up slowly as Loki’s head snapped around to face the door.

She was lying on her stomach, stretched out across the length of the bed, knees bent so that her feet were up above her shoulders. Her hair was longer than it was when she was male, and it spilled down her back and around her face, and Harry stepped forward slowly to brush it back out of the way as Loki stared at him with wide green eyes. It was the same face, only a little softer around the edges, the same eyes and mouth, though the bottom lip was fuller, and same nose, and Harry bent down to press a kiss to the furrowed forehead.

“Hello,” Loki whispered back. She turned, almost hesitantly, though Harry wouldn’t have noticed the tightening around her eyes or the stiff set of her shoulders had he not known her so well. She lay upon her back, breasts full and legs pressed tightly together beneath a patch of dark hair. She placed both hands over her crotch, hiding herself, though there wasn’t much to see with her legs folded and ankles crossed and not enough space for air to slip between her thighs let alone anything else.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, pulling off his glasses. His eyes had gotten a little better with age, especially after he had gotten around to visiting a specialist and getting the right prescription lenses, so now he mostly used his glasses while driving or working. He folded them, leaning across Loki who tensed and then relaxed almost immediately, to put them on the nightstand. He knew what she was doing, understood the hints she had been dropping for the last week, but Harry had paid them no mind. Loki had always been nervous, hands shaking, or mouth trembling, as he had made the innuendos or suggestions or jokes, as he always passed them off to be. Even now, her hands shook, nails biting into the delicate flesh of her groin, and Harry feigned obtuseness to give her the chance to change her mind. He wasn’t going to question her: asking her if she was sure would be an insult. She, who had gone through so much and come out the other side of it, was perfectly capable of deciding to have sex, saying otherwise would only hurt Loki’s feelings and upset him, or make him think that Harry didn’t desire him (because he was used, shamed, defiled, or unworthy; they were some of Loki’s favourite things to call himself, no matter how many times Harry tried to tell him they weren’t truths).

“What do you think I’m doing?” Loki questioned voice softer than when she was male. She looked up at Harry, as the other man pulled off her shirt and shimmied out of his trousers, her pupils blown wide with lust. Her hands slipped away from her body, coming to rest by her sides, and then slowly, Loki moved them up to her pillow. She held onto the fabric, clutching a little in each fist, her hair getting tangled around the fingers of one hand, and she spread her legs invitingly. “They did not take me like this.” Loki whispered, keeping her eyes on Harry’s face. “I have not been taken like this in a very long time. I would have you take the honour.”

Harry said nothing. He moved to the bed, leaning down over Loki to press a kiss against her mouth, and she moaned, letting go of the pillow to grab hold of his shoulders, pulling at him until he fell down on top of her.

“No!” She hissed, hands shaking against his shoulders. She didn’t push him away, but Harry could feel her nails brushing back and forth as her hands clenched against his skin, wanting to sink in and _hurt_ to get him off of her, but she didn’t. Because Harry pulled away immediately, sitting beside her on the bed and smiling warmly even as she glanced away in shame. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling pathetic.

He didn’t ask her if she still wanted this, because her leg had shifted up so that her thigh was pressed against his, and her hands had wandered to his waist.

“Come here.” Harry reached for her, hands on hers and pulling until she was sitting up and scrambling onto his lap. Once she was seated on him, a leg on either side of his naked waist and his cock pressing against her sex, Harry pressed another kiss to her mouth. At the same time, one hand moved to squeeze her breast, pausing in case she reacted badly. When Loki did nothing but moan, Harry pressed his hand against her hander, thumb moving uncertainly to flick against her nipple. His other hand moved from her waist to the apex of her legs, one finger at a time, pressing within her – already wet and slick and welcoming – while Loki writhed in his lap.

“This works rather well,” Harry whispered, as he pulled his mouth away from hers.

As long as she stayed on top, Harry didn’t think she would panic. It was the feeling of being pinned, out of control and vulnerable that terrified Loki, even though she wore a different body. Like Harry, who had had nightmares for years about the war and those years before, who always reacted worse if there was someone trying to stop him thrashing, trying to stop him from clawing the skin around his scar right off of his face by pinning his hands, and all his brain could think was, “No, no, no,”, even though no one was trying to hurt him. It had been instinctual, to flinch away if Voldemort’s hands were too close to his throat or his face, and it had been for years. Similarly, Harry had known that Loki didn’t like to feel trapped. Loki was always the one to push _him_ against a wall, or climb onto him when he was sitting on the sofa, or cuddle against his chest or spoon against Harry’s back at night. It worked well; Harry thought again, pressing another kiss to Loki’s panting mouth, because girls on top were usually the ones in control, or so Ginny had told him once.

“I’ve never done this before,” Harry told her, the hand leaving her breast to brush lightly over Loki’s lips and jaw, “so I’m afraid it’s all on you. Do with me as you will.” He lay back against the pillow, that free hand tight on her waist to keep her steady, even as the other worked her open. “What would you have me do, Loki love?”

She felt a thrill rush through her, sharp and soothing, like the days before when she lusted and desired and wanted and sex was a pleasure. This was like then, before Thanos and her imprisonment; this was the way things were supposed to be. And the desire burned within her, through her veins setting her blood on fire with need and into her core and she rocked against Harry’s hand, desperate and whining because those fingers suddenly weren’t enough, weren’t deep or long or thick enough and she needed more. She needed everything he would give her.

“I need you,” she told him, panting through the words, while moving one of her own hands down to play with her clit. “I need you inside of me.”

And Harry was hard for her too, his cock curving up against his stomach, thick and purpling at the tip. Semen gathered there, and Harry reached for himself, swirling his fingers through the pre-come and using it to coat the rest of his length (liberal, though it was not), but Loki was wet enough that lube would be unnecessary. Forgetting her hatred of the taste, and the disgust that turned her stomach when she remembered the feel of it on her tongue, Loki reacted without thinking, and she grabbed hold of Harry’s hand. She brought it to her mouth, sucking the come off his fingers and palm, and moaned from the taste of him. Harry allowed her free reign, panting harshly, but never complaining, as she sucked his fingers even after they were clean. She did the same for the hand that had been pleasuring her, using her other hand to tease herself, and when she let Harry go he put both of his wet hands on her breasts, thumbs on her nipples, as she took hold of his cock and took it inside of herself.

Loki’s head fell back, eyes squeezed closed and mouth open, and Harry stared at the sight of her, enraptured, until she broke the spell by moving. She rocked above him, her body hot around his own, tight and slick, and he took in the sight of her as she rode him, breasts bouncing and hair flying around her face, her hands on his chest for leverage and her thighs taunt and shaking from the effort. She bounced in his lap, and her eyes strayed between him and glancing down at the place where their bodies joined, watching as his cock appeared and then disappeared back into her cunt. Sounds of sex filled the room, their panting and his moaning and the occasional scream Loki let out, the slapping of skin against skin, the friction of his cock against her insides and the bite of her nails against his chest, and it was over before either of them knew it. Loki’s back arched as she cried out, Harry’s thumb pinching down hard on her clit as one of his fingers pushed into her alongside his cock, giving her that little extra she needed to tip over the edge. She clamped down around him, and Harry pulled his hand free, grabbing her waist and rolling her before she realised. When she was beneath him, still shaking from orgasm, Harry pressed into her twice more before coming, mouth against hers to distract her as he released within her, hot and sticky and _better_ than she could remember semen ever feeling, and he rolled off of her straight away.

“I didn’t panic,” she breathed, chest still heaving. She sounded surprised, and she glanced over at Harry with watery green eyes, closing them in relief because if she could end with Harry on top of her perhaps soon they could start like that as well? And Harry had been right: every day, it gets a little easier to live with, to move passed. “I love you.” When his eyes opened again, Loki was a man, and Harry gathered him against his chest, sweat and come and tears ignored as they cuddled in the afterglow.

“I love you too,” Harry told him, before taking down the silencing charm, and summoning their blanket back up off of the floor.

“I am happy,” Loki whispered, eyes fluttering closed, lashes feathering against his cheeks and his breath fanning Harry’s chest as he fell asleep in his arms. Harry watched him sleep, happy too, happier than he could remember being in fifteen years of marriage. Loki didn’t have a nightmare, and they slept peacefully until the morning, when Eileifer woke them with his cries. Though he lacked a womb or a vagina at the moment, pain still shot up Loki’s spine at the sudden movement, but instead making him feel nauseous, the reminder of the night before made him smile.

_XXX_

November 2nd 2014.

They had sex again that night, though this time Loki waited until Harry was already in bed before appearing in a flash of green, butt naked, on top of him. She had bitten her bottom lip, worrying it with her teeth as she glanced nervously around, still unable to believe that Harry could want her, love her, as much as she did him. The sight of Loki like that, shy but determined to have what she wanted, sent blood rushing to Harry’s cock, and before he could stop himself he flipped her onto the bed, his body pressing her down into the mattress as her arms came up to pull him closer. She didn’t push him away, and she didn’t tense up, instead she surged forward to kiss him, sure that he would not hurt her, sure that he would stop if she asked, and she let Harry fuck her like that: on her back beneath him, with both of her arms held above her head by one of his own (and though she could fight him off any time she liked, she lay helplessly beneath him, her body arching into every touch and her mouth following his as each kiss ended, and she cried out for more as his cock pulled out of her, the head just barely breaching her, leaving her empty and hollow, and she screamed his name every time he surged forward again to fill her). When they were done, and his seed was running down her thighs –she smiled at that fact, because it was Harry’s and not _theirs_ , because Harry was hers – she whispered softly, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Harry replied, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead.

They lay together in silence, until Loki’s breasts slipped away, and his genitals were outside rather than in, and he turned to face Harry directly. “I would tell you a story,” he whispered, cautiously.

“Then the floor is yours, Loki love.”

“Thanos is searching for an item, of such capabilities that it has been hidden away for eons and the keys to unlocking its power have been separated, sent to the ends of the earth in the care of various individuals who can protect them.” Loki paused to lick his lips and brush his fringe out of his eyes. He reached out with his magic, dipping into the space within realities and pulling out a ring set with a purple stone. 

“Wizard space,” Harry whispered, looking impressed. 

“A pocket of reality that is filled with magical potential,” Loki corrected, smiling fondly at his lover. He slid the ring onto the middle finger of his right hand. “This is one of them,” he told Harry, “one of the keys to unlocking the gauntlets power. There are six of them, I have one, my brother has another, the other four are scattered throughout the nine realms. I know two for sure are here, upon Midgard, though one was stolen from its guardian by a man who calls himself Magneto. My fa- the Allfather,” Loki corrected, not sure if he could address the man as Father without permission, not after all they had been through and how Loki had been so unwilling to forgive when last Odin extended his hand. “The Allfather has a seventh gem, one that was created the last and only time Thanos united the Infinity Gems with their Gauntlet. It is called the Ego Gem and it has powers beyond all imaginings. Thanos means to destroy all life, to end all worlds, Asgard, Midgard, Helheimr, those worlds which are unnamed or unknown, anywhere with life, Thanos means to ravage.”

“Why?” Harry reached out a hand, brushing his fingers down the side of Loki’s face, trying to brush away the look of fear that was across it. 

“The last time, he fancied himself in love with Death herself. They were a couple, or they were courting, or he was seeking her attentions; I was young, I do not really remember. I would have been about seven Earth years and the Allfather came to me with a purple stone and told me it was a gift from Lady Death and I was to protect it always. I know Thanos loved her, and he believed that she would love him too if he gave her freedom. If he eradicated all life, if there was no one left to die, and he became immortal to avoid dying in the process, he and Death could be forever together and nothing could come between them. He destroyed his own planet, took a handful of loyalists onto his ship and blew everyone else up. The Allfather joined a council, some of the people who have the Gems were on the council, and Death came to them and offered to help them stop Thanos.”

“Because if there was no life, there can be no death. And without death, Death would have no purpose.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed. “But Thanos did not believe that when he was told. Lady Death did not come to him again, and the Gems were separated and the Gauntlet brought to Asgard for safe keeping, and Thanos banished to the dregs of space. And then I fell. I landed right in his lap. I, Loki of Asgard, who could teleport between the realms. I, Prince of Asgard, who had access to the weapons vault and the Gauntlet, who wore one of the gems on his finger and whose brother and father wore another each. I was so angry, so bitter, I agreed to everything he wanted, but only if he gave me a planet to rule. I choose Midgard, because Thor had picked Midgard over me and I wanted to spite him. Thanos would spare that one planet, because it was mine, and while the rest of the Nine Realms burned, Thor would look upon Midgard before he died and know that it was _I_ , not him, who kept his precious planet safe, all of Earth would know it, and they would _worship me for it_.”

“But the Avengers stopped you?” 

“Yes. The Avengers,” he hissed angrily, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, “defeated the Chitauri and gave myself up to them, because I knew Thor would bring me back to Asgard, and there were no Chitauri there, no SHIELD, no Thanos. I gave the Chitauri the Tesseract. It was there for the taking, but no one took it! Thanos followed me back to Asgard, I had thought I was safe from him, I thought he couldn’t get in, because why did he need me to bring him to Asgard if he could get in himself? But he followed me and there was no one who could save me from him, until Sigyn found me and then you found me, and-” Loki sobbed, something raw and broken sounding escaping his throat before his hands were pressing against his mouth to silence himself. “I dream sometimes,” he said, once he had composed himself, “of Thanos. He searched for me, he has others under his control and they look for me. Amora in Asgard, a man with dark hair in Vanaheimr. I have two brothers in Jötunheimr, though I have never met them and they would likely deny me as I would no doubt them. One is King there now, and a Jötun tried to slit his throat last month for making a pact against Thanos with Asgard.”

“How do you know these things?” Harry looked confused. Dreaming was one thing, Harry used to dream about the things Voldemort did or said or thought, but that was because he was a Horcrux and they were linked. Thanos had been inside of Loki’s mind though, had controlled him and was now controlling these other, which might explain some of what he knew, but unless Býleistr had been speaking to Odin while the other Jötun attacked Loki wouldn’t have been able to know the real reason for the attack. 

“I am Loki World Walker,” he told Harry with a half-smile, “it may not be safe for my body to be noticed upon other worlds, but in my dreams my spirit is free to travel. It is better to keep ahead of your enemies, Harry, and I was foolish to let myself believe I was safe before. I will not be caught off guard by Thanos again, by anyone, and if I must follow him as I sleep to make sure of this then I will.”

“Ok,” Harry agreed calmly, reaching out to squeeze one of Loki’s hands. “Ok,” he said again, leaning forward to brush Loki’s lips with his. “He won’t hurt you again, I won’t let him. If you think he’s coming, tell me, and I’ll make sure you’re safe.” 

Loki scrabbled for his other hand, holding them both tightly as he shook his head. “No! No! You can’t get involved. You and Eileifer have to stay safe, Harry, you have to!”

“I will be safe, I promise. Death cannot take me, Loki, and if needs be she will come to my aid. Not his, never his, I promise you.” Green eyes narrowed at him, searching for a lie that he couldn’t spot. Harry didn’t explain about the Deathly Hallows and he didn’t tell Loki about meeting Death as he took his son away, instead Harry held him close and promised Loki that everything would be ok. 

_XXX_

TBC in Part ii… 

Cannot get the next part to agree with me. Got half way through the next sex scene and went... BRICK WALL!


	7. Part 06-ii

Here we go! The porn just wouldn’t agree with me, so it took far longer than necessary… But in the meantime, I managed to write another FrostIron one shot if anyone hasn’t seen it yet but is interested. 

Also. Yes. There are finally pictures of Tom Hiddleston on the set of Thor: the Dark World! (twitpic dot com slash bewthw)

Now. ENJOY!!

* * * 

**Words:** 5,212  
 **Chapter 6**  
December 24th 2014. 

“Wzza did yuuuz shey?” Harry asked around the toothbrush in his mouth. Loki had murmured something a moment ago, but from the bedroom through the closed bathroom door, the words had gotten lost. Harry hadn’t caught more than ‘bed’, which was admittedly enough to intrigue him. 

Loki didn’t reply to him, so Harry finished getting ready for bed. He was wearing a pair of pyjama bottoms and no top, having gotten used to finding Loki lying naked and waiting for him, but never wanting to assume either. 

It was cold out, being December, but they were spared the snow that used to ruin his mornings while he was living in New York. Loki didn’t seem to be particularly bothered by the cold, and he didn’t usually mind the heat either, though Miami had been uncomfortably warm for both of them. So Harry left the heating on most of the day, and cast warming charms on himself and Eileifer at night, and let Loki be. Frost Giant though he was, he was usually warm to the touch, especially at night when Harry was using him as a heater. His skin was cold while it was blue, even though his fingers and lips were _always_ a little chilly but Harry thought that was more to do with magic than genetics: his wand grew cold if it wasn’t used often enough too. But Loki’s kisses were like flames, dangerous and burning, all consuming; being a little cold before bed was always a small price to pay for the chance to spend the night surrounded by that fire. 

“Hey,” Harry greeted, glancing up at Loki only to freeze in shock. “What?”

He was used to Loki waiting for him, lying naked on the bed, smiling coyly at him or biting her bottom lip shyly. But this was new. The last time he had seen Loki even partially naked as a man had been a year and a half ago when Harry had found him cowering in an alley in New York. And now the god sat in the middle of the bed, his pale legs pulled up against his chest and his arms curled around them. Dark hair hid his face like a curtain, but when Harry stopped speaking, Loki looked up slowly. He used one arm to brush his hair back, and the other released his legs, allowing them to spread out straight in front of him. Harry pressed one hand to one of Loki’s feet, rubbing gently, as the god considered him. 

“I took the liberty of preparing myself,” Loki told him softly. “I wanted to make sure it was done right.”

“Have I ever hurt you before?” When Loki shook his head, no, Harry sighed. He climbed onto the bed, so he was sitting beside Loki, with his legs stretched out parallel. “Why would you think I’d hurt you now?”

“This body is different. My other, my female form, when I am excited I am self-lubricating, that body is more accustom to sexual intercourse than my male form. Except for _them_ , and they hurt me, so…” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable. 

“I’m not them. And rape isn’t sex.” Harry ran a hand over his face, sighing. “I was always on the bottom before, with Tom; if you want you could top me?” The look of distaste Loki pulled answered that question fairly well. Harry knew how he felt: when he and Ginny were together, he was happy to let her take the lead as well, and then Voldemort spent years dominating him, and now Loki, who while always the one penetrated was also always in control. But apparently that desire for control didn’t extend to be the one penetrating. 

“I like belonging to you.” Harry didn’t know what he meant, because of course Loki was his. He figured it might be an Asgardian thing, or a Jotnar issue, because didn’t they mate for life? Maybe it was something to do with that? But now wasn’t the time to ask about it, so instead Harry agreed softly and leaned over to kiss his lover. 

Loki’s hands moved instinctively, threading fingers through Harry’s dark hair and holding on tight as their mouths moved together. It was with well-practised ease that Harry pulled at Loki’s waist, urging the man to slip into his lap, one leg at either side of his hips. They continued to kiss; mouths pressed tightly together except for the occasional seconds they pulled apart gasping for breath, only to surge back together again like polar magnets. Loki moaned, arching his back in order to press his cock against Harry’s. Harry’s hands squeeze at his waist, nails biting in as he panted. 

Loki, having been thoroughly distracted by Harry’s kisses, gave a startled mewl as a finger pressed its way inside of him. He glanced down with wide eyes, fixing his sight upon the face of his lover, at the first to touch him this way in a year and a half. The finger twisted within him, and Loki gasped, legs spreading wider of their own violation and he moved to kneel above Harry allowing him unrestricted access. Harry’s other hand kneaded his arse, squeezing and stroking lightly every time Loki gasped, and one by one more fingers pressed inside of him to join the first. 

“I would have you,” Loki whispered, ducking his head down to mouth at Harry’s collarbone. 

With a whispered spell, Harry’s hand was slick again, and he spread his fingers inside of Loki twice more before withdrawing them and smearing the lubricant over his erection. Loki shifted forward until he was hovering above Harry’s cock, and Harry held the base to keep it steady as Loki lowered himself down. 

The Asgardian’s bottom lip was bleeding, his teeth digging into the soft flesh a little more with every inch that Harry pressed into him. The Wizard groaned, head thrown back against the pillow, and hips bucking up, seeking more of the sinfully tight heat that was offered to him. He waited until Loki was fully seated on him, breathing heavily through his nose with his pupils blown wide with lust and a little fear, before Harry’s hands held tightly to Loki’s hip and thigh, holding him secure while he flipped them. When Loki was beneath him, both arms held above his head, fingers digging into the pillow, Harry began to move; he pulled out almost all of the way before thrusting back in in one smooth motion, and Loki screamed. He had forgotten the pleasure that came from having his prostate struck, having grown too used to sex as a woman, and the touch of Harry’s cock against the nerves inside of him made his legs tremble as they wrapped around Harry’s waist to drag him down closer, to demand more. 

They rocked together, a rhythm that was as familiar to them both as breathing. Harry knew where to touch to make Loki moan, his nipples just as sensitive as his female form’s, and Loki knew to bite down on the column of Harry’s throat to make him buck viciously up into him, and Harry panted against Loki’s mouth, tongue flicking out to tease at his bottom lip, because it made Loki whimper with need. Fingers left the pillow he had been clinging to, and tangled into Harry’s hair instead, forcing the man’s head down closer so that their lips could meet again. It was messy and desperate and Loki groaned into Harry’s mouth as the man’s hand came to grip him tightly. 

“Please, please, please,” he begged softly, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, lids closing and flying open again every time his prostate was touched. 

Harry stroked his cock, fist tight around the hard flesh, pulling roughly in time with his thrusts, which were beginning to lose their rhythm. Loki cried out beneath him as he came, head falling to press against the cradle of Harry’s neck and shoulder, and he moaned deeply as his seed covered Harry’s hand. 

“I love you,” Harry whispered, smiling at the mumbled repetition Loki gave. His orgasm followed soon after; two more deep thrusts of his cock into Loki’s body, and his hands on Loki’s arse, pulling the cheeks apart and raising his hips a little more and then he was coming, crying his lover’s name as he threw his head back. Beneath him, Loki smiled. His arms were stretched over his head again, and Harry’s eyes were drawn to the lines of his chest and stomach (and the sticky mess left there), and then to his softening cock. Harry watched as he pulled out, smirking proudly as his cock slipped free of Loki’s body and the man gave a groan at the loss. Loki propped himself up on his elbows, looking between his own legs as well, and he flushed red at the trickle of seed that escaped him alongside Harry’s length. 

“We should do that again,” Loki whispered, not looking away from the streaks on his inner thighs. 

“Give me a few minutes, yeah?” Harry laughed softly, shifting to the side so that he could lie shoulder to shoulder with his lover. “Not all of us are Gods, you know.” 

Loki laid his head against Harry’s chest, content to wait until the other man had recovered enough to rise to the occasion. His hand stroked lightly over Harry’s cock and down to caress his balls, and further to press adventurously against his perineum before sliding back up to stroke the slightly more interested flesh. 

“You seem plenty recovered to me,” Loki chuckled. He continued to stroke Harry until the man was fully erect again, his own cock having hardened at the sight of Harry panting beneath his hand. Loki gave no protest when Harry knocked his hand away, and pushed, so that the god was on his back again, the Wizard lying over him, and his legs spread without prompting as their mouths met hungrily. As they came together again, Loki spared no thought for his jailors and his rapists or anyone else for that matter. None of that mattered anymore, it was his past, and while he would never be completely over it, it would never be his future. Harry was his future, and Loki had surrendered himself to that whole heartedly. 

_XXX_

January 11th 2015. Asgard. 

There were screams coming from the armoury. 

It seemed that no matter how he tried, nor how hard he pushed himself or willed his legs to go, Thor could not get there any faster. He ran through the corridors, two guards at his back and Odin not far behind. His arms pumped as he ran, trying to speed himself up, but it was pointless, because time seemed to be slowing down around him and instead of him gaining speed the world around him was going faster and he felt like he was stuck in place. Thor growled, frustrated and afraid, because the screaming had stopped and that was never a good thing when one was being attacked. 

He had only been back in Asgard but minutes, getting ready to meet with his father and Sigyn and the other scouts who had left their home to seek alliances against Thanos. And then the screaming had started. For the first time, Thor cursed how far away the armoury was from the audience chamber. Before, it had always been a relief, a blessing, because if anyone sought to attack them, the weapons would always be far away from the King and they would be (hopefully) arm-less. But now, now when he wished he had Loki’s ability to teleport from one place to another with merely a thought, he resolved to re-build the armoury closer when he was King. 

Thor rushed through the open doorway; hammer raised in order to defend his home, but there was no one waiting to attack him. Instead, two guards were slumped on the floor, blood pooling around one of them and the other covered in a green fog that appeared to be choking him. 

“Get a mage!” Thor shouted over his shoulder as the first guard following him caught up. The man turned immediately, and began running back in the other direction. The first guard was dead, Thor could tell as much from the amount of blood and the knife sticking out of his neck, but the second could be saved if they could dispel the magic in time. 

“Loki’s work?” The second guard asked, entering the room with Odin and Sigyn at his heels. The majority of people had waited in the chamber for Odin’s return, but some had followed with their weapons raised, those who would rather blame Loki than Thanos and hoped to face the exiled Prince. Those who waited and feared were the ones who knew this was another attempt by the Mad Titan to steal the Tesseract. 

It was an attempt that had succeeded, and Odin stood beside the empty pedestal that one held the Tesseract and the lines on his face were deeper than normal, longer and harsher and he looked as Thor felt: desperate. 

“Father, what do we do?” Thor whispered, glancing around at the faces that peeked in through the threshold and those that waited inside of the doorway for instructions. 

“Go to Midgard, Thor. That is surely where He is heading now. He will search for Loki, and for your Avengers. He will want his revenge.” Odin sighed tiredly, and Thor moved to clasp his father’s arm. 

“I won’t let any of them come to harm, Father, I promise.”

“I know, my son,” Odin murmured, his own hand moving to squeeze Thor’s. They stared at each other in silence, until the mage entered the room, moving immediately to the still gasping guard. When the spell was cancelled, the guard had enough breath left in him to whisper one name before his eyes rolled back in his head. Thor clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth in frustration because he had hoped the guard would know more, would have been able to help more, but they all already knew that Thanos was to blame here. 

_XXX_

January 12th 2015. Midgard. 

“Hey!” Clint shouted, waving one arm above his head. A head of dark hair weaved through the crowd just ahead of them, but it was the glimpse of green eyes and a familiar scar that had Clint so interested in the man. 

The other Avengers watched with frowns, as Barton shoved his way ahead of them, wriggling through the people that packed New York like sardines in a tin. It was no surprise that the streets were busy. Everyone was headed to Times Square, where the Avengers would be hosting an interview with a journalist friend of Tony’s, or they would be if they could get through the crowd. Unfortunately, Thor had disappeared last night and Tony had spilt coffee on his suit and had insisted on changing into the _suit_ and had to be talked out of it by Natasha, which hadn’t been pretty. So they were running late, and their car had been stopped three blocks back by the newly installed pedestrianized zone, and the police wouldn’t let anyone in cars through the barricade on the other side so they couldn’t have even doubled back and around. And now Clint was running off and calling attention to them, and people were starting to glance curiously at them. Bruce quickly ducked down, slumping his shoulders and hiding his face behind the thick purple scarf he was wearing. 

“I’ll kill him,” Natasha hissed just as Clint managed to catch up with the stranger and grab his arm. 

Tony gasped as the man swung around, his face a picture of startled terror before it smoothed back into the usual grin that Tony was familiar with. Harry continued to glance around though, as if expecting something else to jump out at him, but then he smiled at Clint. He stood up on his tip toes to catch the wide eyed gazes of the approaching Avengers over the heads of those in the crowd that separated them. 

“Agent Barton, a pleasure to see you again.”

“Harry!” Clint crowed, pulling the other man into a furious hug, full of ribs cracking and feet lifting off of the floor and being swung around in a wide circle. Various passerbys shot them poisonous looks, or shoved at them with umbrellas and bags, but Clint paid them no attention. “How have you been! _Where_ have you been?” 

“Oh, I moved to Florida. I’m living down in Orleans now, with my partner.” 

Clint glanced at Harry’s face, and then down to his chest and back up again. The familiar bump was missing from his stomach, and he asked, sounding hesitant, “and the baby?” 

“Yeah, a boy. He’s with my partner at the moment. He only works part time, but he’s brilliant with our son, so he’s happy to babysit when I work away from home.” The other Avengers had caught up by this point, and Harry turned to smile at Tony. “Hello again. If you haven’t guessed, I’m your host for tonight. You know,” Harry glanced around at the crowd and shrugged, “if we ever manage to get there before they start showing the news in our spot or something. Hey, aren’t you missing somebody?”

“Thor had to go somewhere yesterday. He should be back in time I hope,” Steve said, offering his hand for Harry to shake. “Steve Rogers, nice to meet you.”

“This is Harry; don’t ask me what it’s short for though. She’s never told me.” Clint wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders and grinned widely. “We used to be drinking buddies, well, I used to drink and she used to be pregnant. I haven’t seen her in about a year and a half.”

“Her?” Natasha and Tony asked simultaneous. “Pregnant?” 

A crack of lightening interrupted anything Clint had been planning to say. Harry smiled awkwardly, cringing mentally as he cursed himself and this day. First, he woke up late, and Eileifer had thrown up all over his shirt, and when he’d gone to change, there was nothing clean that matched his trousers. Then Loki had been annoyed that he was leaving, because apparently Loki had ‘forgotten’ and booked a table for dinner that evening, and refused to accept Harry returning early in lieu of Harry not leaving at all. If Harry hadn’t have mentioned the Avengers at all, and just let Loki believe it was a run of the mill interview with boring same-old celebrities, everything would have been fine. But Loki was still jealous and insecure, regardless of how far they had come in their relationship he probably always would be. Harry had been thoroughly ‘distracted’ by his lover as he attempted to leave the house, eventually managing to apparate away when Loki turned to see what Eileifer was calling him for. Then, to make matters worse, he managed to mis-judge his destination and ended up in the middle of an alleyway rather than the theatre the interview was supposed to be recorded and streamed from. The traffic was ridiculous and being grabbed by Clint unexpectedly, after being warned that Thanos had the Tesseract by Loki and his dream walking, had nearly given him a heart attack. 

And now, trust his luck that his old drinking buddy was one of the Avengers and, to make matters worse, never had been drunk enough to forget that Harry had been pregnant when they met. What could Harry say at the time but that he was a very tom-boyish girl? It was typical that it was the one thing Clint wanted to bring up in public, not the magic that Clint had seen him perform or the leaving his husband they had talked about or his being a journalist… But the fact that Harry had been pregnant. 

“Hey!” Clint suddenly shouted, and thunder rumbled overhead. Rain started falling, like someone had poured a bucket of water over their heads, and in seconds they were all soaked to the bone. The sky opened with a crack, lights blinding anyone who dared look up, and as the lightning faded – purple, and blue and unnatural – the people around them began running, attempting to get off of the streets, because even they could tell that something dangerous was coming. But Clint? Clint just gaped at Harry and muttered, “you’re a MAN! But you were PREGNANT!” 

“Magic,” Harry told him softly, one hand slipping into the pocket of his jacket to grab hold of his wand. He didn’t need it much, but it always helped ground him just before a battle started. The sky lit up again, and this time when it faded a creature stood before them, human-like but with skin the colour of drying blood, chapped and cracking in place, especially around his mouth as he grinned. It was a grin like a shark, full of teeth and bad intentions and Harry had seen it on Loki’s face just after he’d screamed himself awake from a nightmare. 

“Thanos,” Harry breathed. His wand shook in his hand as he raised it to point at the Titan. 

“ _Odinson_!” The creature hissed at him, voice like gravel in a blender and by Harry’s side Tony flinched. 

Thanos moved towards him, his eyes fixed intently on Harry, on who he mistakenly believed was Loki in disguise, but a hammer came flying through the air followed by another flash of unnatural lightning and then a body was slamming into the creature. Thor growled, climbing to his feet and calling Mjölnir towards him. “You would dare attack my comrades in arms? You would invade my home? That you would lay hands upon a son of Odin is a grave insult, one I demand you repay presently Titan!” 

“Hey big guy, welcome back!” Tony shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth in the hopes that it would make his words carry over the sound of thunder the way Thor’s words seemed to. 

“Odinson, you would cower behind these mortals like the pathetic waste of flesh that you are? Would you not defend your honour yourself?” Thanos taunted. He got to his feet awkwardly, like someone had pulled him up with a string and all his limbs had just followed along. 

Thor gave a shout of rage, his cheeks flushing red as he over looked the fact that the creature was staring at a stranger, a Midgardian, while addressing him. “Who do you dare accuse of cowering? Face me when I engage you in battle!” 

“Not you, son of Odin,” Thanos whispered, finally turning to grant Thor with the hint of a smile, eyes cold and teeth bared though his lips were hardly parted. “The other.”

“Sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else.” Harry tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. Behind him, Natasha narrowed her eyes; her fists clenched as she took two steps forward to keep ‘Loki’ within easy reach. “But on that point, I’m going to assume you’re Thanos?” 

The Titan narrowed his eyes again, inhaling deeply, nostrils flaring, before his eyes went wide again. “You are not the Trickster. But his scent is on your skin and his magic surrounds you. Who are you, Midgardian? Who are you to the one who betrayed me?”

A pained groan sounded from behind him, and Harry risked glancing over his shoulder in time for something green, that looked a lot like an oversized arm, to knock him out of the way. Harry landed on the ground with an ‘oomph’, groaning at Tony as the man attempted to pull him out of the Hulk’s war path. 

“What?”

Tony gave him a hug, arm tight around Harry’s shoulders and he grinned widely, as he said, “Harry, bestest buddy of mine, I’d like you to meet the _other_ big guy!”

_XXX_

January 12th 2015. Hogwarts. 

The interview with the Avengers had been cancelled, which was understandable considering three of them were busy scraping themselves up off of the pavement. The Hulk hadn’t discriminated while he was smashing, and even Harry who had spent most of the fight shoved behind Iron Man, sans Iron Man suit, ended up with a dislocated shoulder and a sprained wrist. He had bailed on the hospital visit though, sneaking away while three SHIELD agents herded the others into a non-descript black SUV. It had been a pain in the arse to resist going home first, but if Thanos was following him (despite having been knocked around a bit by the Hulk and Thor before gaining the upper hand and then being shot at continuously by Natasha until he had disappeared during another flash of lightning) Harry would rather Thanos follow him to Lord Voldemort. Voldemort at least would be better prepared to deal with an invasion; at least if he was anything like he had been when Harry was married to him. 

Instead, he apparated to the closest hospital, the same one he had brought Loki to the day he had found him huddled in an alleyway. From there, after his shoulder and wrist were fixed, Harry made his way to the Ministry of New York, and hopped a Portkey to a place that used to be called home. 

Hogsmeade hadn’t changed a bit. It was still small, quaint and quiet, full of thatched buildings and cottages and Madam Rosmerta, a little older and rounder, was still dressed like a middle ages tavern girl. Hogwarts, in the distance, was the same breath taking sight it had always been, and Harry spun around in a full circle, breathing in the crisp January air, with a hint of frost tickling his nose, and he laughed softly because he had missed this place. The smells, the sights, even the sounds of children laughing the closer he got to the school, and it was like he had never left. He could imagine himself, sitting at the head table during the important feasts, working from home with Tom, sometimes in Tom’s office in Hogwarts, having to comfort little first years who were lost in the corridors… And then the rebellions started again, and he was banned from leaving their manor, banned from seeing anyone other than the handful of trusted Death Eaters in the inner circle. And then his miscarriage, and Loki, and Eileifer, and the Avengers, but despite it all, as Harry pushed open the doors to the Great Hall and smirked at the shocked gasps that rang out through the hall (much like in his own school days whenever he appeared unexpectedly), it was nice to be coming home. 

_XXX_

Lord Voldemort’s presence wasn’t required at the school during term-time, unless it was at the welcoming and leaving feasts or something important was happening (like the Tri-Wizard Tournament that was held at Durmstrang back in 2012 and he had threatened each and every student with bodily harm if Hogwarts didn’t win before he let the contestant leave). But within minutes of Harry’s appearance, Lord Voldemort came striding through the doors to the Great Hall, banging them hard enough off of the walls to cause quite a few flinches throughout the room. 

Or maybe, Harry thought, as he pushed out of the seat he’d taken, it was the way Tom looked that had terrified people. 

Lord Voldemort’s eyes were narrowed, his fists clenched, one at his side and the other with a white-knuckled grip around his wand. He looked about ready to start spitting fire and it wouldn’t have surprised Harry to see steam coming out of his ears, but instead the man hissed angrily, like a dragon rather than a snake, something guttural and furious and full of fire. “CRUCIO!” Red light left the tip of his wand, and in front of every student at the evening meal, Harry dropped to the ground of the hall and screamed.

“I had forgotten how much that curse hurt when it was you who casts it.” Bellatrix’s curse hadn’t hurt half as bad, or at least Harry didn’t remember it hurting as much as this one had, nor the time Voldemort had used it on him in the graveyard in Little Hangleton. “I missed your birthday,” Harry whispered, still sprawled on the ground. He was smiling though, and he fished out a slip of paper from one of his pockets and held it out to the Dark Lord. 

Voldemort snatched it from him, his eyes nothing more than slits of red, and his lips were pressed together so tightly that they were bone white, but his cheeks flushed red as he read the sentence over and over, unbelieving what he was seeing. 

_Our son was born on September 9th 2013…_

“Is that why you left?” The words were softly spoken, but his fists were still clenched, though at the sound of crinkling paper Voldemort quickly loosened that hand. He glanced at the paper reverently, and then back up at Harry, and not for the first time the younger Wizard felt the guilt of keeping the father from his child. It wasn’t crippling, because it had been done out of his own fear for his child, but it hurt, a rock hard presence in his chest, pushing down on his lungs and against his heart, and he had to force himself to swallow twice before he could not, because the words just wouldn’t come. “And why did you not return sooner? Why is he not with you now, Harry?” 

“That’s a long story,” Harry whispered, finally pushing himself to his feet. He accepted the hand Voldemort held out to him easily, allowing the man to tug him up that last little bit and steady him when his legs started shaking. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about actually.” 

Lord Voldemort turned on his heel, glancing around the room at the curious eyes that followed at his back, but he ignored them in favour of taking Harry’s hand and placing it in the crook of his arm, the way he used to whenever they went out in public together. Harry snorted at the action, remembering their first public appearance and how he had reached out to hold Voldemort’s hand. The man had snatched it back as if Harry had bitten him, and after a moment of staring wide-eyed at Harry’s shocked and hurt face, he had taken his _husband’s_ hand and cradled it by his elbow. But this was not his husband. Mother of his heir, yes, as the child was born while they were married, but they were married no longer. Voldemort went to pull his arm away, but Harry grabbed hold of him, pressing his hand harder against the other man’s arm, encouraging him to keep his grip. 

“I am sorry,” Harry whispered, as arm in arm Voldemort led him from the hall. 

Some of the inner circle remained at the head table, some professors and some observers, and some because they were married to staff. But one man in particular narrowed his silver eyes. Much like Thanos had done, Fenrir Greyback took a deep breath and recoiled at the familiar scent that clung to Harry like a second skin. 

It was one he had not smelt for centuries: Father. 

**XXX**

* * * 

Fenrir will be explained in the chapter after next. But someone else important (and totally butchered from Marvel and re-made into my Frankenstein HP/Avengers-esque character) will be in the next chapter though. Guess who?


	8. Part 07

UNEDITED, because I am tired and have to get up for work tomorrow. 

I started working on a FrostIron one shot, which is starting to seem rather daunting in length, so, I side-tracked to this one, but was procrastinating a lot. And then my router stopped working, but when I got it working, my modem didn’t want to work, and then when I got that working my internet decided not to resolve the DNS so… I’m writing now! 

* * * 

**Words:** 6,700  
 **Chapter 7**  
January 12th 2015. Hogwarts.

Harry wasn’t sure where to start. Voldemort had led him to his office, cloistered them away in a room full of books and parchment and portraits that could no longer talk and they had sat there for a full ten minutes just staring silently at each other across the desk.

“Why did you leave?” Voldemort asked after another long moment of silence. The words were unnaturally loud when they finally came, and Harry flinched at the sound of them. He had been expecting it of course, he had known Voldemort would want to know, but still being asked was like being punched in the chest, and the air rushed out of his lungs as he tried to think of what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Harry told him, because he was, but because he didn’t know what else to say that wouldn’t hurt his ex-husband’s feelings. “I was afraid.”

“Of me?” The Dark Lord sounded incredulous. Not even before they had married had Harry truly ever been afraid of him.

Harry would have laughed, if he hadn’t been so concerned about offending Tom. So instead he bit his lip and shook his head, keeping silent for another minute to get his thoughts in order. “No,” he said softly, “I was afraid of losing another child. It almost killed me the first time. I was there, you know, with Death when she took our baby away from me. She told me it wasn’t time and I laughed at her, I didn’t fight her, because I didn’t believe her. I thought it was just another stupid dream, like the ones I used to have of you and corridors and locked doors that led to prophecies. I thought it was another dream, and when I woke up and there was no baby…” Harry bit his bottom lip, blinking his eyes furiously to stave off the tears. “When I got pregnant again I was afraid that it would happen all over again. Fifteen years, Tom, and there was still people who wanted to stop us, kill us. How could I have believed it would change in nine months? I was only going to stay away long enough to have him. His name is Eileifer by the way.”

“Why did you stay away?” Voldemort’s finger moved slowly across the desk, tracing the name of his son over and over again into the wood.

“There was a man.” Voldemort’s head snapped up, and his eyes narrowed and Harry could practically hear the accusation before it was voiced, that he had left home for a lover, stolen his child away for a lover. “No,” Harry corrected, “I was coming back from the hospital and I found a man in an alley. He had been tortured, starved and raped and his mouth was sewn shut and I couldn’t just leave him there. And after I brought him to the hospital, he had nowhere else to go. I just, it just… it just happened. One day I was looking after him, and the next I was in labour and then somewhere along the way, I didn’t want to leave. Leave him, I mean, and by then our marriage had been annulled, and there was nothing left for me to come back to.”

“You love him?” Harry nodded slowly, wringing his hands in his lap. “You had me to come home to,” Voldemort whispered, ignoring the first question and Harry’s answer. He hadn’t loved Harry; he hadn’t been capable of it. But he had grown fond of his husband, protective and possessive, and he had been pleased by the idea of a son and desolate when the child had been stolen away from them. But Harry had been destroyed by the loss and now he looked happier, if a little wary of Voldemort’s mood, and healthier and the second child had survived.

Harry glanced away from his ex-husband, swallowing heavily as he stared at the wall. “I am sorry, you know. I think if given the chance, I’d do it all again. But I really didn’t want to hurt you or make you worry.”

“May I see him?”

Voldemort hadn’t been expecting Harry to agree, because after all they were no longer married and Harry had someone else to play father to his son, but Harry agreed happily because Eileifer was Voldemort’s child, not Loki’s and Loki understood that too. “Of course! I’ll bring him to visit you, but I don’t want to come back, Tom. This isn’t my home anymore; I’ve made my own home now. I live in America, in a nice place, with Loki and we have a pet alligator. Actually, he lives in the bayou but just sleeps on our porch and eats all of our leftover food. Sort of like a cat. At least, Crookshanks was like that.” Harry gave a half shrug, smiling softly at the memories of his friends and their pets.

“You did not come back just to tell me this, Harry. As much as I would have liked that. What is it you came here for?” His arms folded across his chest and Voldemort leant forward in his chair, listening and watching intently.

“I would request sanctuary for my lover and my child should they be in need of it.”

“From what?” Voldemort questioned, eyebrows furrowing, “and for yourself?”

“Death will protect me. But I can’t be sure her loyalty will extend to my family. In fact, I dare say it won’t. I know I’m probably asking too much, but I had to ask anyway, Tom. For old times’ sake.”

“From what?” He repeated. Voldemort listened with narrowed eyes as Harry told the tale of Thanos, the Titan who devoured worlds as he passed them by, and of Loki and Asgard and the Avengers. When he had finished speaking, he reached out for the cup of tea that had long gone cold and took a sip just to wet his lips. “Should you ever be in need of my protection, Harry, for yourself or your family, for my son, my arms are always open. Lord Voldemort is a merciful Lord, after all.”

“Merciful, my arse,” Harry murmured with a good natured roll of his eyes, but he mouthed ‘thank you’ straight after. He pushed away from the table, standing up out of his chair and offering a nod of his head and a bow at the waist. “Thank you for your time, my Lord. I’ll bring Eileifer to visit you soon, but since I didn’t tell Loki where I was going, I better leave before he gives himself an aneurism worrying about me.”

“Goodbye, husband,” Voldemort whispered, because annulled or otherwise, they were still family as far as he was concerned, and ‘ex-husband’ just sounded harsh and petty. But Harry was already gone, and Voldemort was left alone in his office, tracing Eileifer’s name onto the wood of the desk with his finger as the door clicked shut.

_XXX_

March 8th 2015. New Orleans. 

“Pardon me,” Loki murmured, as she shifted to the side to let someone pass her by. Someone bumped into her from that side, so she shifted away again, ignoring the “excuse me” they offered her. “Sorry,” she muttered again, even as she cursed herself for deciding to go shopping at this time of the day. The streets were packed, mostly with people rushing out for lunch or a coffee before they needed to be back in work, or with the usual tourists out exploring and those who stood at the edges of the streets practicing tricks to encourage the tourists to part with their money. 

Loki scowled; she could see the door to the apothecary ahead of her, but the crowd seemed to have no intention of letting her pass un-assaulted. Fortunately, her time with Harry had helped her tone down her more violent reactions to being touched without permission, and she no longer flinched at the innocent brushes from the hands of passing strangers. Instead, she offered everyone near her a scowl and a narrow-eyed glare, and elbowed her way around them. 

Unexpectedly, an arm dropped around her shoulders, and Loki cringed as she tried to pull away. A rather strong Cajun accent offered apologies for startling her, and called, “move out of the lady’s way please!” The body attached to the arm began pulling her towards the apothecary, and the scent of ozone off of his fingers kept Loki from pulling out her knife and driving it into his liver. 

“What are you?” She murmured, finally managing to pull herself out from under his surprisingly strong hold. “You are not mortal.”

“Neither are ya,” the man replied softly, his lips curving up into a smile. His eyes were red and brown hair blew into his eyes, and the hand that hadn’t been around her shoulders was shuffling a pack of cards between three fingers almost like magic. “Name’s Gambit by ta way, but ta pretty lady be callin’ me Remy.”

“I am spoken for!” Loki narrowed her eyes at him again, storing his name away for future reference, because maybe Harry would recognize what was different about him. Red eyes were wide with mock disappointment but he backed up with a quick bow from the waist and motioned for Loki to enter the store. She did so, turning once quickly to glance back at the man who was now making cards explode in the air before a crowd of interested tourists. Beneath his long brown coat, he wore the strangest outfit of black leather and yellow ‘x’s and the tourists seemed more interested in the uniform that in the magic tricks, but Gambit continued to shuffle cards and fly them through the air and make them explode into bright red lights all the while aware of Loki’s stare at his back and of Wolverine who watched him from the closest alleyway. 

Seeing she had long been forgotten about and feeling safe enough to turn her back again, Loki entered the store, glancing upwards in annoyance at the bell that rang shrilly when the door opened and closed. 

A woman walked towards her, dressed in little more than rags, with a shawl around her shoulders and scarves tied to her waist. Loki raised her eyebrow at the woman, whose necklace alone cost as much as the store probably did, and rolled her eyes at what was obviously supposed to be a show for tourists. “I am not a tourist,” Loki told her softly, as she opened her mouth to greet the customer. “So if you would cut the theatrics, I would be far more pleased than I currently am.”

The woman snorted, shrugging her shoulders. “Can never be too sure, miss. The tourists expect it, I guess, and my boss tends to get crabby when we don’t give the customers what they want.” 

“Your boss?” Loki glanced around the store. Various trinkets lay here and there, scattered on shelves and stacked neatly on the table and only one out of every seven appeared to be truly magical in nature. Loki’s dream walking had led her here, and so far it was a great disappointment. She had walked first to Jötunheimr, now fully allied with Asgard it was safe to cross there, for no one would dare harm her now. She passed herself off as Hela’s daughter, half-Jötun and half-Áss (though Hela had long ago given Thor a son, not a daughter, who Loki had never met), unknown Princess to Asgard, and heir to Jötunheimr too. While there, she sought counsel from the healers and the mothers and once returned she walked through the streets over and over searching for some sign of magic that could help her. She needed a spell, something to undo the enchantment Odin placed over her as a baby. 

“My mother. She usually works out of the back room, telling fortunes and reading palms, that sort of thing.” The girl smiled widely, “but I guess you didn’t come here for that, huh? What can I help you with?”

“I need a counter spell.” 

Usually people came looking for voodoo dolls or love spells or lucky charms, but the young woman before her didn’t appear to be one of the usual people. The girl swallowed heavily, glancing around warily before running to lock the door from the inside. “Sorry, but what with the new Bill against Mutants and all, can’t be too careful, miss. You want real magic? You gon’ have to speak to mama.”

She led Loki behind the counter and through the black tattered curtain that separated the rooms. It swayed as Loki brushed it aside, moving of its own violation, and she recoiled from it and the voices that whispered to her of death as it fluttered. 

“Creeps me out too.” The girl whispered, before knocking softly on another door and taking a seat at the small round table in the centre of the room. “Mama got it from a wizard outta London, said it was part’a some other veil and they were testing it. Wanted to see if anything came out ta other side. Nothing ever has mind, but it gives me goosebumps when I touch it.”

“I hear the dead calling.” Loki whispered, as she lowered herself into her own chair. 

“Then you have known suffering. It is only those strongly affiliated with Death that can pierce beyond the Veil.” A third woman entered the room, older and rougher looking than her daughter, but she was dressed richly, in silk and satin and the brightest colours Loki had ever seen on a person outside of Mardi Gras. Pale hair was pulled back into a sever bun, but unlike her daughter there was nothing Cajun about her. She looked Russian, and Loki smirked when she realised what this woman was. “How can I help you, Mr. Odinson?”

“Mama!” The girl shouted, sounding offended on Loki’s behalf. “She’s a lady, honestly!”

“No, he is not, Emilie. Now hush.” Baba Yaga took a seat at the table, her hands folding together on her lap as she waited for Loki to say something. 

“It has been a long time, dearest,” Loki whispered, shifting forms quickly and easily and ignoring Emilie’s astonished gasping. Yaga continued to stare at him, and Loki got the feeling that she was still a little bit annoyed over the Budapest incident last century. “I seek a counter spell to the one Odin placed upon me. I am old enough and controlled enough to maintain my own spell and wish to remove the old one.”

“I was under the impression that you did not care for your other look?” Loki flinched, having not mentioned anything about what the spell did, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Baba Yaga would not have been who she was nor as revered if she didn’t know as much as she somehow did. She hadn’t needed to know about Jörmungandr nor about Hela’s child, (she was who had told Loki of the birth after all), so why would she not have found out about his true parentage? 

“I don’t. But the spell is interfering with my biology and I would like it gone until such a time I choose to reapply it.” 

“You wish to conceive. Naturally?” The ведьма(1) seemed rather surprised. Loki supposed that was understandable, after all only one of his children had been sired naturally, and she had been a mistake: Hela had been sired on his wife. The two monsters had been born from a female Jötun whose heat was so strong Loki had needed to cast magic upon himself in order to keep up. The child he had miscarried had been conceived through force and a potion to grant male-fertility. All had been unacceptable, outcast and shun, unwanted by some and despised by others. 

But Harry’s son had been conceived naturally, and Loki wanted any other children they had to be the same. Odin would have no cause to take them away, and Loki would want them as much as his other children, as much as he should have wanted his daughter (the product of his rape, or otherwise, she had been his, like Sleipnir had been his, unwanted at first as well). Perhaps, Loki thought wistfully, instead of answering because Baba Yaga had known his answer the moment he had first realised it, if Harry married him then, their child would be legitimate too. Like Hela had been, who was happy and safe and Queen. And like Eileifer, who was happy and safe and the heir to the Dark Lord’s empire. 

“Very well.” The witch pushed out of her seat, wearing the oddest smile Loki had ever seen across her lips as she walked to the door she had entered from and pulled from thin air a small book bound in human skin. Loki did not flinch at its appearance like Emilie did, because he had been like Baba Yaga once, and though tamed by recent events and by love; he was still a monster at heart too. “You are not a monster, Odinson. But there are virtues to be had in being hard of heart.” She smiled softly, but her teeth peeked out above her bottom lip and they were spiked and made from iron and this time Loki did flinch because he remembered being twelve years old and wandering into her forest alone and the feel of her teeth on his leg as she tried to chew it off before Thor came to rescue him. “You and I are very much alike, предвестник(2). You know you cannot escape your fate, though you run, as I have run, through worlds and time and people, but I hope this life makes you happy. You deserve some happiness before it is time for the world to spin again, though, that depends on whether you survive the Titan first, hmm?” 

She read from the book then, three quick sentences that Loki didn’t have time to translate before his skin was burning and his insides were melting and a scream worse than any noise he had made before tore its way from his bleeding throat and shattered the windows in the room. When it stopped, and he was silent, he lay across the floor, arms and legs twitching uncontrollably and skin blue all over. He glanced at the markings on his hands, and then at his arms, and up and up until nails were digging into the grooves on his face and he was dragging them across his skin, mapping them, marking himself with trembling fingers. 

“Is it done,” Yaga told him with a firm nod and a tone that told him he was no longer welcome. “Now, don’t forget Jötnar only breed in the colder seasons.” 

“H-How much do I owe you?” His voice shook, blood clogging the back of his throat and tears of pain having made his face feel heavy. 

Baba Yaga grabbed his arm, hauling him from the ground with strength that none who did not know her would have attributed to the tiny slip of a woman. Meanwhile in Russia, Loki thought with a snort, thinking back on some of the images he had seen on the internet before. He allowed himself to be dragged back passed the curtain that whispered to him, much like the Tesseract once had, and then out to the front door. It was unlocked and opened, and he was unceremoniously shoved out into the street. Loki’s hands grabbed the doorframe, stopping himself from falling onto his arse, but he wobbled a little as he stepped slowly away from the door that was already closing on him. 

“Defeat him,” Yaga murmured, glancing at something behind Loki just before the door closed and locked again. A closed sign appeared in the small window in the door, and once Loki was far enough away from the house, it raised itself off of the ground and hurried away down the street on two abnormally large chicken legs. 

The tourists clapped and took photos, and the people who had lived long enough to know that there were things that went bump in the night averted their eyes and covered their faces and made their ways home, just in case Baba Yaga changed her mind and returned for their flesh. Loki found himself with an arm around his neck again, and the man from before grinning at him widely. 

“Well now, and what are you?” Gambit asked with a drawl. “You ah not mortal, either, ma Cher.”

“No,” Loki told the man, recognizing the uniform now that he had seen it on two other men who were waiting with Gambit. “Nor am I a Mutant, so excuse me for being blunt but this is none of your fucking business.” Loki shoved him out of the way, again, and threw discretion to the wind. If Baba Yaga’s house could run away, and Mutants could practise their powers in public, then Loki would allow himself to teleport home, still blue and wearing the loose sun dress from earlier. 

No one was home yet. Harry had taken Eileifer to visit Lord Voldemort that morning, and Loki had chosen to remain behind despite having been invited three times so far that year. It was not Loki’s place to interfere during those visits, to be once more an interloper, the one who tagged along but was never welcome who never belonged. He had lived through that before, with Thor and Thor’s friends, never _their_ friends, and he would not, not again, let himself be that person once more. 

Harry and Eileifer had been his for so long that he had almost forgotten they had been someone else’s first; Harry would never be Voldemort’s again, but Loki could not replace the man as Eileifer’s father. It was a meeting of Voldemort’s family, not his, and despite Harry’s words (as Thor had reassured him numerously) that he was welcomed, he wouldn’t be. Couldn’t be. The Warriors Three had never welcomed him, and they made that verily known once Thor was out of sight, and Sif had not been fond of him after a time either; why would this Dark Lord be any different, treat him any different? He was Harry’s lover, as he had been Thor’s brother, and that was all he ever would be to those people. But he could have another child, one born from him and Harry, and it would be their child and he would be a mother. He would be Harry’s lover, Harry’s child’s mother, and this would be his family, and he would never have to fear Voldemort taking the child away, or Voldemort replacing him in the child’s affections, or Harry becoming so distracted by these visits that he forgot about Loki, because pregnant women deserved attention, and Harry was a gentleman in that sense. He would not leave Loki alone then. 

Loki pressed both hands to his stomach, pushing down gently like one would in order to better feel the kicking of their growing child. But nothing grew within him yet, and he had never wanted to touch Sleipnir as he grew, and the other child hadn’t really had much of the chance to kick at him. But he closed his eyes and tried to imagine it, to compare it to how it felt to feel Eileifer kick within Harry, and how Harry had smiled with every movement. He would smile, Loki thought, and he would relish every show of life, every action and growth this child took, and he would never be alone again. 

_XXX_

April 9th 2015. Anchorage, Alaska. 

Loki had told Harry what he wanted the moment the man had walked through the front door. Harry had stared at him in silence, reading the lines on Loki’s face and the tightness around his eyes that said far more than his words had, and then he nodded. Loki had kept Eileifer for the night, and Harry had gone to speak to his realtor and his lawyer and the Goblins at the nearest branch of his magical bank. When he returned, Loki was waiting for him, blue and naked and smiling sadly, and Eileifer was asleep, but the house was on the market and one was in the process of being purchased somewhere cold and remote and far from home.

They had fucked like that, Harry making as little of a deal of Loki’s blue skin as he had done for Loki’s female form, and Loki had appreciated that. Enjoyed the touches and kisses and bites, and the sting at the base of his spine and the heat that travelled down his legs from Harry’s touch and warming charms. Harry had hissed from the cold, but magic helped him become more comfortable with it, and he fucked Loki under the protection of a silencing charm, male rather than female because he was not in heat and he could not get pregnant yet and trying would only disappoint him in the end, while all around them magic packed up their belongs. Leatherhead slipped off of the porch and disappeared into the bayou. In his room, Eileifer woke up and began to cry softly. 

Everything was bittersweet, watching their stuff vanish through space, holding their child against their chests as the Portkey spun them from one place to another, leaving the first real home Loki had ever known where he had belonged and fit in and been happy. But with a hand on his stomach and another held by Harry’s, Lady Loki walked calmly into her new house, mindful of the snow and the stares of their new neighbours, contenting herself with the knowledge that this too could be their home. And their family would soon be one number larger. 

So when her heat came, as it did with all of the Jötnar a month after the Snow Season began on Jötunheimr, she had been living away from the sticky heat of New Orleans for a month. Harry sometimes shivered from the cold, but Loki and surprisingly Eileifer feeling completely at home amongst the ice and Inuits. Voldemort had been pleased enough to avoid asking any questions when Harry had offered Eileifer to him for a whole weekend unsupervised, because as of yet Eileifer didn’t spend the night in England, not even on the days Harry stayed to discuss the coming war with Thanos. 

But Eileifer had been gone for three days and Loki had thought of nothing else but her desire for more, more Harry, more of his cock, more children, more kisses and touches and skin rubbing against her own. And she had screamed for him, Harry glad Eileifer was out of the house yet concerned that the neighbours could hear because he couldn’t remember casting any silencing charms, but he had no chance to check, or recast, because whenever she felt like he was moving away from her, Loki would flip them over, pin Harry beneath her and ride him until they collapsed in a shaking mess of limbs. On the ninth of April, sticky and sweaty and _starving_ , they woke slowly, stretching out across the bed with their arms and legs touching carelessly. Loki, leaking ejaculate, sat up carefully, muscles sore and limbs boneless, and smiled. Her hands were pressed against her stomach again, and this time she knew that something grew within her. She did not know if the child would be human, for Jörmungandr and Fenrir and Sleipnir had not been, but at least the child would not grow to become like Hela, for the spell that had destroyed his daughter from the inside out had been broken by Baba Yaga and only Loki’s magic cloaked his true appearance now. He let the spell drop, bleeding to blue as Harry shot out of the bed like a rocket and ran for the bathroom. 

“Harry?” Loki called softly, keeping her eyes on her stomach, where new lines had drawn themselves in swirls and branches above her uterus, and if she had ever bothered to learn the language of the Jötnar she would have known the lines had changed from simply branding her one of Laufey’s line, to calling her a _continuer_ of his line. 

“I had to pee so bad!” Harry grumbled as he made his way back into the room, stomach rumbling unhappily. Loki blinked, because she had not needed the bathroom, nor did she require sustenance even now, though she supposed for the health of her child she should probably eat a little. One of the giants’ Healers had warned her of that, that she would survive up to a week-long heat without complications, but partners who were not one of them had been known to die of dehydration before they could impregnate their mates. Loki did not think to ask why Harry had not been thirsty or hungry, or weaker than he should have been. Grateful as she was her lover had survived her heat unscathed, Loki merely smiled up at Harry and said, “I am with child.” 

The Hallow burned on his finger, and Harry glanced down at the ring that was glowing softly, rolling his eyes. Death would surely be put out once more by his continued existence, but what could he do? He was still two sons short of completing the story, of ending as Ignatius had ended. 

Harry glanced at Loki’s stomach, his own lips curling into a smile. “Pregnant?” He asked, smiling widely when she nodded back at him with a bright grin of her own, blue lips pulled back over her teeth ferally and Harry thought it was the hottest thing he had ever seen. 

“A daughter,” Loki told him, because Hela had still cradled his daughter from before, even once Harry’s dead son had been reborn. “We will have a daughter.” 

“Good,” Harry said, and then kissed her. 

_XXX_

June 28th 2015. New York City. 

The Odinsons had been here before, and since He had no other place to start looking, Thanos found himself back in New York City. Thunder rumbled over his head, and raindrops the size of a child’s fist fell from the sky, battering the ground and breaking branches from trees. Thanos grinned; both rows of teeth pressing together and upper lip curling and He looked to the sky as if He planned to take a bite out of it. 

The Thunderer was unhappy, He thought to himself as He walked the streets. He would walk until an Avenger found Him, and if they took too long He would go in search of a human or two to play with until their screams called the saviours of Midgard forth. Thunder rumbled again and lightning streaked across the darkened sky and there was no doubt in His mind that Thor had learnt of the theft of the Power Gem from Magneto by one of his servants and his own taking of the Reality Gem. The news did not seem to be to the Odinson’s taste and lightning split the sky once more as Thanos threw his head back and laughed. He wore the two rings on two different fingers, and He searched New York for the brothers who held two more rings between them. 

He found Thor first, unaware that Loki was long out of the city. The God barrelled into Him with a scream of rage. The Reality Gem had been taken from one of the old Elders of the Universe, along with his head, and Thor had come to seek vengeance on behalf of his father’s old friend. As they fought, buildings crumbled to dust around them, backs meeting concrete and faces smashed into windows, and the lightning set fire to the trees that had managed to avoid Thor’s hammer whenever it had been knocked away. It was an accident, when Thor kneeled to grip Thanos’ neck and his heel caught on the edge of his cape, which knocked him to the floor. He lay on his back, growling as his hands slid on the wet ground, pushing himself slowly up but Thanos was faster and His foot came down on Thor’s neck and ground down until bones started cracking and Thor started wheezing. His left hand gripped Thor’s wrist, and his free hand held a knife, and Thanos brought it to Thor’s trembling finger and cut. With his face pressed against the stone ground and his throat buckling under Thanos’ weight, Thor felt fear and rage and hate, but mostly pity for this was still far less than what Loki had suffered by the Mad Titan’s hands. 

Thor’s finger bled, but it was not quite severed and the ring was still snug upon it when Spiderman swung towards them from the closest building still intact. His feet hit Thanos straight in the chest, and knife and Titan both went flying in opposite directions, one landing with a clink and the other with a scream of fury. Peter Parker grinned beneath his latex mask, holding both hands out in front of his own chest and crocking his fingers in the come hither motion, “Hey bud, your crazy’s showing!” 

Thanos came towards him, his own arms outstretched, fingers curled into claws, and the Hulk met him halfway. They slapped together with a sound like thunder and the ground trembled beneath them. Spiderman waited with his arms still out, laughing softly, and Thor grabbed onto one and allowed the boy to help him up. 

He held his injured hand against his chest, ignoring the blood that flowed thickly from his half-severed finger because his ring was still there and with it the Space Gem. Thanos was busy being smashed into paste and the other Avengers had arrived by now and they stood at Thor’s back with their weapons raised, ready to defend, to protect… to avenge. 

Thanos, like the coward He is, took the first opportunity to escape, and went in search of the weaker brother. Loki, who was not protected by the Avengers, nor by Asgard, and their treaty with Jötunheimr until he signed his name at the bottom of the contract did not extend to sending help to another planet for him, would be the easier target. Loki, who had the Mind Gem, would fall at His feet once more, and with the Gem at His disposal, the Thunderer would follow. 

_XXX_

July 7th 2015. Anchorage, Alaska. 

She should have expected it, should have seen it coming. Sooner or later, Odin always found out about her children. It didn’t matter that she had dream walked through the worlds she had once known in the flesh and saw nothing that would give her cause to worry for the safety of her family and it did not matter that she once more called Odin ‘father’ and that he called her his son when Loki was spoken about amongst others and alone with his wife. It didn’t matter that Harry had laughed off his worries, even though Harry was always right and if Harry said it would be ok then it would be, because hadn’t it always turned out ok when Harry promised it would and hadn’t Loki gotten better and healed well and learned to enjoy sex once more like Harry had promised he would? But that didn’t matter, not then, not in the face of Odin with Gungnir raised and Thor who threatened Loki’s neighbours with Mjölnir. 

They were there, and if they had come to be there then only Heimdallr could have sent them, because they had fallen from the sky by the power of the Tesseract to land right before her and only Heimdallr had the power to see her so clearly. Loki watched, shocked into stillness. The snow turned to mush beneath her feet, barely enough of it left to call snow but her pregnancy called it down from the sky and the chill of it comforted her every time she dreamed that this child might die and Anchorage had had the highest snow fall it had ever seen since Loki had moved to town. 

“Which of you have captured my Brother?” Thor shouted, waving Mjölnir again. The sound of his voice, something Loki had last only heard in dreams or nightmares or as Thor muzzled him and dragged him back to Asgard to be tortured and then later defended him, for all the good it did against Thanos, made Loki jump. She covered her mouth with one hand, trying to stifle the scream of frustration and fear that bubbled in the back of her throat and in her stomach and she felt queasy all of a sudden, so she pressed her free hand to the bump that was barely forming and she rushed back up the driveway to her house. The door closed softly behind her, and Harry was there waiting with their 22-month-old in his arms. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked her, as she reached out to pull Eileifer into her own arms. 

“We need to leave, Harry.” She rushed passed him then, to the bedroom, and after placing Eileifer on the bed. He was such a good child, so complacent and happy and agreeable, he didn’t cry or whine at being taken from his mother and then unceremoniously abandoned on his parents’ bed; instead he smiled widely as Harry followed them into the room and waved his wand with an efficient flick and swish, the way Hermione had drummed into him. Eileifer called for more magic, more tricks, and Harry offered him a soft smile, deciphering the toddler’s attempt at English with well-practised ease, and he charmed their belongings to pack themselves faster and suitcases flew out from underneath the bed and from over the wardrobe and flipped themselves open before filling up with possessions that were once more about to be Portkeyed across the country. 

“We don’t have time,” Loki told him firmly. They already knew she was here somewhere so why waste time trying to hide it, she figured. With a wave of her hand and a softly spoken incantation everything they owned had shrunk down to sand, little granules that slid through Harry’s fingers as he attempted to pick up what once used to be his entire wardrobe. 

“Talk about taking me for everything I have.” He tried to joke, but Loki didn’t so much as crack a smile. She waved her hand again, and the sand swirled into the air, a tiny tornado that had Eileifer demanding more and more and more, mummy, before rushing into a bottle of coke. Loki pocketed the bottle, and shrugged at Harry’s raised eyebrow. “You’re obviously too hipster for vials and, you know, normal magical containers.” 

“I do so hate to be considered mainstream,” Loki agreed, finally allowing her lips to curl slightly as she glanced at her lover. “We must leave. I have everything of import,” and then she grabbed the toddler with one arm and Harry’s hand in her free one, “but we have no time to find somewhere else to live, so we must make do.”

“I have somewhere prepared, beloved, just in case something like this ever happened.” Harry thought they were running from Thanos, and the Gryffindor in him wanted to go outside and fight to protect his family. He wanted to stand up and protect what was his as he had always tried to do, because his pride wouldn’t let him run away and as a teenager he hadn’t been wise enough to know that avoiding a fight was sometimes braver than winning it and as an adult he never had to fear Death and so happily threw himself headfirst into battle and war and vengeance against the rebels that had murdered his unborn son. 

But Loki’s fingers were shaking in his and she was holding Eileifer tight enough that he was starting to whine in annoyance and Harry knew now that keeping them safe was more important than his pride. So he apparated them away, to England, and to Lord Voldemort, and as they left the sound of ravens filled the air over Anchorage and Huginn and Muninn flew out far and wide in search of the missing Prince of Asgard. 

**XXX**

1 – ведьма: Witch, in Russian.   
2 – предвестник: Harbinger, in Russian. 

I have absolutely no idea what the Mutant Registration Act was passed, but let’s pretend that it’s still a Bill and nothing more right now. 

* * * 

Sorry for the wait. Please let me know what you thought!


	9. Part 08

Wow this is so unbelievably late! But I had hela problems with this chapter and a shit couple months, and yeah this chapter isn’t all that great anyway… But hopefully it’s something to make up for the wait? And longer than I thought it would be too. 

Enjoy and let me know what you thought!

* * * 

**Words:** 7,514  
 **Chapter 8**  
July 7th 2015. Little Hangleton. 

Loki hadn’t been sure what to expect whenever she thought about Harry introducing her to Voldemort – no, that was a lie: she had expected hatred, resentment and anger. To be shunned and ignored and reviled. To be pushed aside and spat upon behind Harry’s back, to be rejected, cast dirty glances out of the corner of each Death Eaters’ eye, the way it had always been among Thor’s friends when Thor’s back was turned. That was what she had been expecting – but it had not been this. Not acceptance, nor smiles, or Voldemort’s hand clasping her own tight enough that Loki feared she might never get it back. The Dark Lord raised her hand to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the bottom of her palm, just before the wrist. He pulled her into a hug then, and Loki stood stiff and silent as their bodies pressed close enough together that she was sure Voldemort could feel the small bump of her unborn child. As she had thought, he had, and he pulled back to glance down at her belly and then over her shoulder to Harry who waited with a smile on his face and their son in his arms. 

“Congratulations,” Voldemort murmured, first to her and then to his husband, as he released her hand. “Welcome to the family.” He turned from her completely then, glancing around at the gathered Death Eaters and began to speak. As he introduced her, Eileifer ran forward, having wiggled rebelliously until Harry put him down, and the toddler happily wound his arms around his father’s legs. Voldemort reached down to pet his hair gently, fingers carding through the dark strands as the child babbled into the back of his knees, and Loki reached up to brush the tears from her cheeks, though she didn’t even know why she was crying. 

“I told you,” Harry whispered into her ear, having come up behind her to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her tight against his side. “Didn’t I tell you?”

Loki chuckled softly, heart hammering in her chest. “You did,” she agreed quietly, “I should learn not to question you, oh wonderful Wizard.”

“If ever a wiz there was,”1 a voice said softly from behind them. Loki and Harry turned in sync, though Loki had tensed up, one hand over her belly and the other held out in front of her, green sparks of magic crackling at her fingertips. Harry hadn’t tensed though, because he had recognized the voice; it was airy and light and so very uncommon that it would have been quite hard to imitate it. He took in the sight of her, even beneath the mask she wore Harry could see the wonderful shade of silver-blue that were her eyes, and her wheat coloured hair spilled out over her shoulders just as long as it had ever been but not an inch longer. She was covered in a long black robe, the hood pulled up and casting shadows across the pale mouth that was free of the mask, but Harry caught the familiar quirk of familiar lips, and though it had been years since he had seen her last, since the day she had taken his child away and he had sent her away in turn, but Harry recognized her nonetheless. “Peace Evanora, I am a friend.” She whispered at Loki.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her, but he did place one hand on Loki’s arm, pushing it down gently until she allowed it to drop completely and the magic fizzled out. 

“And a foe,” the Death Eater added unexpectedly, glancing this time at Harry, “in equal parts.”

“Yes, you are,” he whispered, his own hand pressing to his stomach, and he remembered the pain of their last meeting and how he had laughed in Dumbledore’s face before he realised, and how he had woken, alone and empty and then Luna had been there with that same sad smile and those bright sad eyes and Harry had hated her. More than he had hated anyone ever, and because he was her master when Harry had sent her away, Death had left. “But I have missed you anyway, Luna.” 

“What?” Loki murmured. He cast a glance around, searching for Eileifer and after seeing him hiding behind his father’s legs, the God glanced back at the intruder, nervous and wary because she had some idea of who this strange woman was.

“A nightmare for some.” She glanced at Harry again, before turning to stare at Loki, who had for how many months prayed for Death’s embrace every time the guards had left him alone. “Others, as a saviour I come. What am I?”

“Mistress!” Loki dropped to her knees, one arm crossed over her chest, hand fisted over her heart, and she kept her head bowed even as she tried to tug Harry down to his knees alongside her. 

“It’s ok,” Harry murmured, pulling her up to her feet again, “its ok. She’s a friend.” He said it calmly, almost certain, but there was enough of a question left in his words that even Voldemort raised an eyebrow in Luna’s direction. 

She pulled off her mask and tucked it back inside of her robes; now that Harry knew who she was it was pointless to hide her face. “I am a friend,” she agreed. She crooked a finger towards Eileifer, beckoning him closer and he ran to her, trusting in the way all happy children are. “It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do and I am so sorry, Harry.” She picked the child up, and his hands tangled in her hair, immediately a fistful of it even making its way to his mouth before she tugged it free. 

“I will help you protect your family,” she offered. But because she is Death, and all beings have a time and a place and there was nothing she could do to interfere with that even if she wanted to, she qualified herself, adding, “If I can.” Loki glared at her, but Harry who had lost once to Death and won many other times because he was master and he had the Hallows and they would only protect _him_ understood that Death lays his icy hand on kings1, and what was one child in comparison? 

Voldemort broke the silence then, clearing his throat loudly, and turning back to his Death Eaters to finish Loki’s introduction. Loki cried again, pressed into Harry’s side with Eileifer hugging her legs this time, because Voldemort said only nice things about her – unlike Thor who had once introduced him to a visiting Lord as his ‘useless runt of a brother’ because Loki had fallen off of his horse and gotten his clothes dirty – and his Death Eaters were smiling at him for the most part and those who weren’t at least didn’t look like they hated him and Harry had been right, like Harry was always right. Everything would be ok. 

_XXX_

August 12th 2015. Little Hangleton.

When the werewolves came back, Voldemort and Harry stood side by side in the doorway to the manor to greet them. Loki waited a little behind them, and she smiled faintly when Luna came forward to pluck Eileifer out of her arms. The blonde woman just smiled, ignoring the questioning look Loki sent her, and took careful steps backwards. “Harry,” she called softly, “come stand beside Loki.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder at her, and then at Loki who stood bemused and sans child, and he obediently walked towards her. Shoulder to shoulder they waited instead, and Voldemort remained alone in the threshold waiting for his friend to return to him. 

They waited patiently, though that was difficult for the toddler who once more was trying to wiggle his way to freedom, desperately demanding, “Down, down, down” to no avail. Luna held him tightly, still and silent, but she smiled like the Mona Lisa and Harry narrowed his eyes first at her and then at the group of people who were beginning to appear in the distance. 

He hadn’t seen Fenrir since the war ended. The man had helped clean up the stragglers, those who had refused the new regime initially, those who continued to torture and kill indiscriminately targeting Muggleborns and Muggles and ‘proving themselves’ to the Dark Lord, carrying out his true work by their own admission. The werewolves had become a temporary police force, keeping anyone over zealous from acting out and frightening the more submissive non-supporters into silence until Voldemort and Harry had had time to hash out the details of their truce. 

Once it was signed, and the couple were married and consummated and the government had been re-established (with a few changes here and there and everywhere really) Fenrir had asked for somewhere to take his pack, somewhere to live in peace from humans. Voldemort, who was so much younger than Fenrir was, was also the father the wolf had never had the chance to have. The Dark Lord had found him and rescued him, saved him from the punishment of his biological grandfather, long after his Father had stopped trying futilely to free him from Gleipnir, the Dwarven chains that bound him, and he had cared for him during his first rise to power. After his second rise, Voldemort had called him back, taken him and his pack into his home, his arms, and welcomed them, cared for him once more. Voldemort had granted him his wish, securing land and warding it from humans (with the exception of those keyed to the wards) and Fenrir had left them. 

They wrote to each other, occasionally, Harry knew, though he hadn’t really known Fenrir well enough to ask after him or add words to the letters. Harry didn’t know that Fenrir had wrote to Voldemort in the days after Harry had reappeared back into the Wizarding world, or that Fenrir sometimes taught classes in Hogwarts to the part-creature students mostly and that he had seen Harry there, smelt Harry there, and had asked Voldemort if he knew why Harry had smelt how he did. Voldemort had replied, telling him of Harry’s lover whose name he did not know, but who had been tortured for more than a year and saved in part by Harry, who used magic and named Voldemort’s son Eileifer, the Norse name for ‘Ever-Heir’. Fenrir had taken what he could from that, made as many assumptions as he had dared, and later seen Harry Potter on the six-o-clock news in New York fighting off the Mad Titan who had kept calling him “Odinson”, and Fenrir had _known_.

Fenrir Greyback, Fenris Lokison, had come back to Little Hangleton prepared for who he would meet, but no one had told Loki. No one had known to tell Loki, because Fenrir had not told anyone, not since Voldemort, of what he truly was, and now he did not wish to frighten his Father away. He wondered, as he walked with his pack towards the house, if his Father had stopped trying to free him because he no longer loved him or if he had simply run out of ideas? Fenrir was not angry; he had stopped being angry a long time ago, but he was curious and hurt, because there she was, holding hands with Harry Potter and her stomach was rounded out but not enough to tell for sure the difference between overweight and pregnant, but Fenrir could smell it in the air. Father, and magic, and pregnancy, and _home_ : after all this time apart, Loki still smelt like home, and Fenrir bounded forward, slipping easily into the form he had always taken until Voldemort had shown him how to change. The wolf charged forward, gun metal grey with black streaks around his nose and around the ankles of each leg, like a scar that would never heal, and he stopped with a growl right in front of Loki who reached out a shaking hand to touch the top of his head, fingers just barely brushing over soft fur before her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed. Harry caught her; she was limp and pale and he hoisted her up into his arms, carrying her bridal style passed Luna who was still smiling. 

“You could have warned her. Or me,” he muttered. 

Behind him Fenrir whined, but followed as Voldemort did, and Harry brought Loki to the nearest living room and laid her out along the couch carefully setting her head in his lap so that he could run his fingers through her hair. Fenrir crouched on the floor by her feet, head still taller than the sofa even though he was sitting. Voldemort sank into the armchair and when Luna let Eileifer go he scrambled up into his father’s lap. 

“Is mum ok?” He asked, thumb in his mouth a second later. 

“She’ll be fine, darling boy. She just needed to take a nap.” Harry answered, and Voldemort snapped his mouth shut, about to say something about stupid wolves and heart attacks and then thought better of it. 

“Dad,” he asked again, voice soft and green eyes wide. He could talk when it suited him, about certain subjects that interested him, but some words were still difficult and longer sentences were hard to string together but he was doing awfully well for a two-year-old. “Having baby now?” 

“No, not yet, darling.” 

Eileifer nodded his acceptance, though he did pout at the thought of having to wait even longer for a sister to play with, and he leaned back against his father’s chest and yawned. He glanced at Fenrir then, as if seeing the wolf for the first time, and his eyes blew wide and he grinned enough to show off his baby teeth. The wolf grinned back in kind, fangs flashing. “Who you?”

“ _I am Fenris Lokison_ ,” the wolf whispered, his voice soft inside of each of their heads. He glanced with grey eyes that looked darker on the wolf than they did on the man first at Harry and Loki and then at Voldemort and the child in his lap who called Loki ‘mother’ though she was not his. He grinned again, deciding, “ _I am your Brother_.”

“Hi,” Eileifer greeted with a wave. Harry chuckled, because his son was cute and adorable and never failed to amuse, and because he could wait and get the whole story out of Fenrir and Voldemort and Loki when she woke up. “Dad? I thought sister?” He pointed at Loki’s stomach, eyebrows furrowed with confusion. 

“Yes, you’re going to have a sister soon. But right now, you’ve also gained a brother. Why don’t you introduce yourself?” So Eileifer did, and when Loki woke up it was to the sight of Fenrir pinning Eileifer to the floor, a wolf the size of a bear and a baby who only came up to her knee and she screamed softly before she was even aware that she was fully awake, but Fenrir only licked her son and Eileifer only giggled, exclaiming how icky it was. As Harry laughed, stomach vibrating against her cheek, Loki sat up and she threw herself at them, mindful of her bump. She pulled the toddler into her lap, one hand holding his head to her throat so she could feel him breathing against her bare skin, and the other fisted Fenrir’s ruff, her own face pressed into fur and she kissed him, over and over, wherever she could reach without having to move. Fenrir huffed loudly over her head before raising one paw to rest on her shoulder, drawing her closer to him as she began to cry. 

“ _I have missed you too, Mother_ ,” Fenrir whispered as he touched his muzzle to the top of her head in a kiss. 

_XXX_

Circa 1970s. 

It was cold and dark, but that was nothing a Lumos and some warming charms couldn’t take care of. The sounds of claws gouging chunks out of rock and those tortured animal noises were another matter entirely. Tom Riddle was not a coward, but he was a firm believer in self-preservation, and by the sounds of whatever animal was trapped here in the dark it would be safer for him to turn around and leave. 

But. 

This was where he had been told to go. First to Albania, and he had found the diadem, but he was short of one more item, and the villagers had told him of the stories they had heard from travellers, and he had travelled there himself to ask them and they had told him the same. An ancient treasure hid away in the cave, sent down from the heavens by a God, and though no one had come to in search of the cave for generations, their great-grandparents still remembered the tall, dark haired man who had offered them their weight in gold coins if they could break the chains that bound the animal. 

Voldemort had not been certain whether the treasure was the wolf himself or whether it was the sword that was supposedly pinning its jaws to the ground, but regardless, he had come looking for the sword. He would kill the wolf and take the sword and use the first person he came across as the sacrifice needed to shred his soul. The sword would be his last Horcrux and he would hide it back inside of the cave where no one would ever think to look, because it had been centuries since the old Gods had deigned to walk amongst mortals. 

The creature howled again. It was less of a howl though, and more of a garbled moan, filled with so much pain that Tom couldn’t help but think of the desperate sounds he had made as a child, full of hate and hunger and trapped amongst Muggles who had hurt him. He had been trapped and afraid then too, he remembered, an arm broken one summer so he could not complete his chores, and little children who couldn’t work for their supper received none. 

Perhaps he would not kill the wolf. He could just take the sword, curse it and bring it right back. Even if anyone discovered its location no one would be foolish enough to brave the Fenrisulfr? The villagers were so afraid of him, even chained and muzzled by Odin’s blade that they refused to bring him food, and yet he still moaned and cried at night when thunder crashed overhead and no one came to rescue him. If no one would approach him bound as he was, surely no one would dare once Tom had freed the sword from between the creature’s teeth?

No, he decided. His Horcrux would be safe here. 

He made his way closer to the sounds, wincing at the scratching of nails across the ground like they were being dragged over a blackboard, and Tom was well used to hearing that sound in Hogwarts but it didn’t mean he liked it. He cringed again at the noise, ears hurting and heart hammering, because there he was, the wolf, and he was bigger than even Tom had imagined. He was crouched down, on his belly, all four legs chained together beneath him as if he had been hog tied and then rolled back over, and it looked to be more than uncomfortable. The chains looped back up around the wolf’s head, melting into the pommel of the sword, either made in one go or welded together later, and the sword itself was stabbed downwards, through the muzzle of the wolf, through both jaws and so deep into the ground that Tom could see the crater from where he stood. To have stayed like that, for centuries; Tom couldn’t even being to imagine the suffering. 

“Hello,” he whispered to the wolf. The creature’s head snapped towards him, followed by a whine as it pulled the sword further into his flesh, creating little trails of blood that spilled down over his nose. “I am here to take that sword, if you would not mind me doing so.”

The wolf considered him. Grey eyes were narrowed, the black of the middle darker than any Tom had ever seen (even though black was black, but now he was starting to feel nervous and paranoid but then the wolf was nodding). Fenris lowered his head, pushing himself as far down onto the sword as he could go so that as much of the pommel as possible was showing. 

Tom glanced at it, glanced at the wolf, and sighed. “It is not that I’m not glad you are being so agreeable, but in my experience you get nothing for nothing. What is it you want? Because if you attempt to eat me once the sword is free I will be very displeased, and since I had already decided not to kill you before I left, I would hate to have to change my plans.”

“ _I am not planning to eat you_ ,” the voice said. Tom jumped, strengthening his Occlumency shields at the same time, but that only made the voice chuckle. “ _You cannot keep me out of your head, little mortal. I am Fenris Lokison and my Mother has walked your dreams many times I’m sure, you and every other mortal who has ever prayed to him. I have inherited enough of her talents to be able to speak with you in the waking world, even if I cannot do it in your sleep_.” 

“Your mother is a man?” It wasn’t what he had originally planned to say, but those were the words that had escaped his mouth. 

“ _My Mother is Loki Odinson, sometimes Lady Loki, sometimes a mare or a snake or a falcon. A spider at times, or a fly. A salmon once though that did not end well for him. He is a Prince of Asgard, the Mother of my eldest brother and Father to my other siblings, even those he cannot claim as his own, sired upon married women as they were_.” Fenris snorted, and rolled his eyes. Voldemort thought on that last comment and mentally compared Loki to Abraxas Malfoy; the amount of women claiming to have had his child, and then taking back their accusations, was astronomical and Voldemort would bet that at least a third of those children were actually his though having already produced an heir and married a wife he would never admit to it. 

“ _I am a wolf. My brothers a horse and snake respectively. My sister is the half-dead Goddess of Death and Queen of Helheimr, the realm of the dead who were unworthy of paradise, which contrary to its negative connotation is actually where the majority of people who die go. My other brothers who I have never met and have long since joined Hela in her realm were Áss enough, though Father’s wife was half-nymph, but even they were not exempted from their Father’s reputation. Man he may be for most of the time, but he is our mother nonetheless. They call him the Mother of Monsters, and a Monster I am, am I not?_ ” Fenris raised his eyes, searching over Voldemort’s face for something that would prompt him to continue but the man remained motionless and blank and Fenris wondered if his father had managed to reach that level of stoicism since the last time they met. He had always tried so hard to keep his emotions off of his face, but never really managed to succeed when his children were involved. 

“ _I only ask that if you take the sword you do not interfere with my actions concerning myself. Though, on my honour and my name, I mean you no harm, little mortal_.”

“Very well,” Tom whispered at last. “But know this wolf, if you cross me you will not live long enough to regret it. Lord Voldemort is not a merciful lord.”

To be safe, rather than sorry, Tom did not approach the sword himself. Instead, he waved his wand, concentrating furiously, with an intentness he only displayed when he wanted to prove how much greater than everyone else he was. 

“Accio!” There was a snap – the chains tearing away from the pommel of the sword, falling limply across Fenrir’s back – and there was a howl of pain and anger, like a scream from something dying and the wolf thrashed against his chains as the sword ripped itself free of his mouth and flew towards Tom. The Wizard caught it, the force of the spell knocking him off of his feet, but he kept his arms around the sword and one hand tight on his wand nonetheless. 

There was blood running from Fenrir’s muzzle. His gun metal grey coat red all over his face, but it began to heal in front of Tom’s eyes, and where it had been all grey and silver now there was a streak of black, like a scar on skin, all along the fur between his nose up to the middle of his eyes. There was a matching one under his jaw, but Tom did not see that one until Fenrir rose to his feet, head thrown back to howl. The chains, now free from the sword, had some slack in them and Fenrir surged to his feet, legs still bound but able to move at least. His legs wobbled, and he crashed back down, but Voldemort could hear him laughing in his head as he tried again to stand. 

He was taller than Voldemort was, even standing on his tip toes, and Voldemort was not a short man. The wolf seemed to take up the entire room, large and intimidating, even looking half-starved as he did. 

“Would you like some help with the chains?” Voldemort asked, unsure why he cared other than the knowledge that the wolf would not last long with his legs chained up once he left the cave. Humans now weren’t like humans centuries ago, they had guns and canons and missiles of death instead of swords and torches, and Fenris only had his teeth and his bound claws. 

“ _You cannot break them. But thank you for your offer_.” He paused, shifting so that he could stare down at Voldemort. “ _Would you heal me?_ ” He asked then, before he crouched back down again. His muzzle was against one foot and he began to chew, ignoring his own whimpers and Voldemort’s flinches and the puddle of blood that began to pool beneath his bulk until there was a crack of bone snapping and Fenrir ripped his paw clean off. The chain that had once looped around that foot fell to the floor with a rattle, unbroken but no longer binding him. Fenris turned to Voldemort, eyes wide and there was fear there, because he could not heal himself Voldemort realised, but he had been so desperate for freedom he would prefer to bleed to death than remain trapped for a moment more. “ _Please?_ ”

Voldemort cast every spell he knew that could be useful. In five minutes, the paw was reattached and the bleeding had stopped, and like his muzzle Fenris now had a ring of black fur all the way around his ankle, a scar that no one would understand but them. He started on the next leg, chewing and pulling and Voldemort waited for the crack of bone and the squelch of parting flesh before he began casting spells again. 

And again. 

And again. Until all four legs were free of Gleipnir.

“ _My thanks, little human_.”

“Have you got somewhere to go?” Tom was never quite sure why he had asked that. Or why he had offered to teach the wolf to take a human form, which he should have been able to do because his mother could and he had magic but he had been young when he had been taken and had never had the chance to learn. But he asked and he offered and Fenrir accepted his help and his hospitality and followed Voldemort home. And when Voldemort went to war, Fenrir followed then too. 

_XXX_

August 12th 2015. Little Hangleton. 

Loki stayed pressed against Fenrir’s side, long after Harry had taken Eileifer for his nap. It was usually Loki’s pleasure to do that, to sing the child to sleep and read him stories and do all of the things for him that Odin had stopped her from doing for most of her other children, but today she couldn’t bring herself to leave Fenris’ side. The wolf was a warm weight against her, his paw on her back and his head resting on top of hers, and she clung to him, fingers digging into the fur of his neck and his belly and she eyed the black patches that were never there before with worry. 

“How?” She whispered at last, after hours of semi-silent crying, as the others around her talked about the coming war and Fenrir comforted her with soft growls. 

“The thing about animals is if you trap them for long enough they’d chew off their own leg to get free.” It was Luna who answered, with that same half-smile on her face, knowing and teasing and Loki hated it but she was afraid enough of Thanos’ lover to bit her tongue. 

Instead wide green eyes fixed themselves on Fenrir’s scars, and she hated herself for crying again, but he had hurt, had hurt for centuries and she had not been able to prevent it. “I am a terrible mother,” she whispered into his fur, wiping her tears there too so no one else could see them. 

“ _No, you aren’t_ ,” Fenrir told her softly, just as Harry said:

“You never stopped loving them or looking for them, and that’s what matters, love.” 

Fenrir moved then, shifting so that Loki had no choice but to pull away. He nodded to Harry, who leant down over the edge of the sofa to grab his lover under her arms and pull her up. She sat beside him, one hand fisting in the fabric of his robes, but the tension he could feel in her body relaxed a little when Fenrir shifted from wolf to man and took a seat on her other side. Loki remained there, silent except for the occasional suggestions she offered as the others talked of how to deal with Thanos and of whom to involve. 

There were mentions of the Avengers that Loki ignored purposely, still not fond of Harry’s association with them or Thor’s involvement either. But she perked up when the X-Men were mentioned; thinking back on Gambit who had accosted her outside of Baba Yaga’s shop what seemed like a life time ago. There was talk of the Fantastic Four and a child who crawled up walls like a spider and a Brotherhood of Evil that had offered their assistance because apparently Thanos had stolen from their leader and Magneto was none too pleased about that. 

They talked, and the more involved Loki became in the discussion, the more Fenrir stopped contributing. He had not yet offered his help, though it was implied between himself and Voldemort that he would help. But he had not offered it yet, and he was waiting to do so until he could see for himself what exactly it was about Harry Potter that made people love him, people who were usually thought so incapable of the emotion. The Dark Lord would lay down his life for the other man, who still looked so very young, too young to have eyes so old, and his mother clung to him like a life line, smiled at him and laughed softly as he spoke, glowed from her pregnancy, her hands and his always around her stomach though Fenrir knew from Sleipnir’s stories that Loki hadn’t been able to bare touching him while he was in the womb. And yet Harry’s child brought her such joy. And she cared for the other child as well, loved him as if he were her own, and Fenrir could see the way she preened whenever Eileifer called her ‘mother’ as if she was one. 

Harry kissed her softly, taking her attention off of Luna who had spoken once more, her soft voice sending tendrils of fear whispering through Loki’s veins. 

“She is my friend,” Harry promised her softly, mouth against her ear and making her shiver. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again, friend or otherwise, ok?”

“Everything is going to be ok,” Loki agreed, calming down. ‘It would be’, Fenrir read the thought from her mind, pushing his own emotions, the well of protectiveness for her that existed in all good children for their mothers towards her, ‘because Harry said it would be’. 

Fenrir turned from her thoughts then, leaning forward to look around his mother and speak straight to Harry. “Thank you,” he said loud enough to catch the man’s attention. The room went quiet for a moment, before Luna, being undeniably brilliant, purposely started talking to Voldemort, keeping his attention on her and off of them. “For loving my father and for taking care of her.” 

“She deserves it,” Harry offered with a small shrug. He cast a fond glance in Voldemort’s direction, who was watching Luna though Harry knew he was listening, interest caught by the sound of his husband’s voice (and they were husbands because they were family and had been for fifteen years and Harry could marry Loki if he liked because they weren’t _married_ , but they weren’t ex- anythings either). “I spent fifteen years being taken care of. As they say, turnabout is fair play. Is that the right saying?” Harry frowned, but Fenrir chuckled and reached out for his hand to shake. 

Fenrir’s hand was huge even as a human, and Harry felt tiny and insignificant as the God clung to him and stared deep into his soul. “I owe my gratitude and my allegiance to your Dark Lord and he cares for you so I have tried my best to keep out of your affairs and I helped you when you needed my help. But Loki is my mother, and I am loyal to her above all. If you hurt her there will be no place you can run, no crevice where you can hide and no pitiful army will protect you from me,” Fenrir hissed, fangs bared and the pupils of his eyes turning darker until they were the eyes of his wolf and his nails were black and long and digging into Harry’s hand but the human didn’t complain. 

Loki flinched, the words too much like those the Other had hissed in his ear years ago, before the invasion had gone so terribly wrong and he had suffered so terribly; but these words were not for her, so she tried to calm her racing heart. She opened her mouth to reprimand her son, because his words were unnecessary and Harry had always and would always take care of her, because Harry made everything ok and he saved people. That was what he did. Whether they deserved it or not, whether she deserved it, Harry would save her. 

“But until you do, if you ever do, I am in your debt too and at your service, my Lord. It would be an honour to fight against the armies of the Mad Titan in your name Harry Potter.” Fenris grinned then, teeth sharp and bright and Harry could imagine them dripping with the blood of his enemies and had to shake his head to clear it of such thoughts. “And it would be my pleasure,” Fenrir continued before pressing a kiss to Loki’s forehead and making his way towards the door, “to sink my teeth into the fustilarian who dared lay hands upon my mother.” He slipped from the room then, and Loki pressed her hands to her cheeks to hide the blush that grew there. But she smiled when Harry caught her gaze and he pressed his lips to her forehead too.

“One down,” Harry joked, referring to Fenrir. Loki only frowned at him, not understanding his intentions, but Luna snorted and Voldemort rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand. Red eyes met Harry’s and the Dark Lord shrugged his shoulders, as elegantly as anyone could manage to, and though he did not know himself he did consider whether or not Fenrir would know where Jörmungandr hid. Harry, who knew what he was thinking after fifteen years of seeing that same look upon his face, turned to grin at Luna, like a child begging for ice cream, because if Fenrir didn’t know Death probably did. 

_XXX_

August 23rd 2015. Space. 

It had been easier than He had expected. But so had His theft from Magneto and the killing of the other Elder, the one Thor had sought to defend. Thanos wondered, as He ripped the ring and the ring finger away from the old man crumbled at His feet, if Thor would seek to avenge this one too. Would he bring his brother again? Even surrounded by the other ‘heroes’ Loki was no match for His might and the insolence of the man, to deny Him, to defy Him, after the pains Thanos had taken to teach the little God-child his place, well, it only made Him all the more determined to get Loki back. The little runt needed to be taught once and for all his place, and that was at Thanos’ feet, licking His boots, or upon his back with his legs spread wide or his mouth open and waiting or both simultaneously because Thanos was a kind master and the Chitauri had yet to be rewarded for the valiant efforts in New York. Loki’s failure was not their failure, though Loki insisted the Tesseract had been theirs for the taking and none had taken it, because Thanos had bid _Loki_ bring it to Him. 

But enough about the wretch, for his punishment was yet to come. But for now, Thanos glanced once more down at the dead Guardian, who had once protected the Galaxies from danger and from Him, had once defeated Him with the help of his comrades and Odin Allfather, who now cowered in Asgard upon his throne, too cowardly to ask after the true fate of his false son, and the Guardians were down two members, dead at Thanos’ hands. Only the Avengers stood in His way. He had three of the Infinity Gems, and He knew where the fourth one was. He had the Ego Gem stored safely away, because even He wasn’t fool enough to mess with that one unless it was desperately needed, but the Soul Gem was next on His list because it was in the possession of a mere mortal, genetically modified though he may be he was still human, and once He had possession of the Soul Gem Thor would fall at his feet. 

The Thunderer would not be able to fight Him, lost to the might of Thanos and the power of the Gem, and with Thor in His thrall He would have a way to bring Loki out of hiding. With Thor’s defeat, Thanos would earn the Space Gem, and with Loki’s the Mind Gem and victory would follow. With both of them under His complete thrall, they would go to Asgard together and take what was rightfully His: the Gauntlet, His vengeance, and the universes. His Mistress would be pleased by His offerings when at last Thanos allowed His enemies the respite of death and severed their worthless heads from their weak bodies. She would thank Him and love Him once more despite His past failure. 

The Titan would rule by Death’s side. Once He was done, there would be no one left who could part them. 

_XXX_

September 28th 2015. New Jersey. 

He fought well for a mortal, though he took to hiding behind his army of controlled civilians once the Avengers appeared. The police had been hesitant to shoot at the army of people, blank faced and silent, all staring towards Adam Warlock every time he spoke, in sync, like puppets on a string, and so they waited for the Avengers to arrive and do their job for them. Inside of Adam’s breast pocket, a Gem shone lightly, not enough to give itself away but enough to cast a little light upon his chin. 

Thor, who was still far enough away to need to squint, mistook the light of the Gem reflecting for the brightness of Adam’s eyes. He surged forward, hammer outstretched as he called to his friends, “this man is under the Titan’s control!”

Mistakenly believed to have been mind controlled himself, Adam didn’t know what to do. He had not planned for this. He had escaped the facility, found a really neat looking bauble that so happened to make people susceptible to his suggestions and thought he’d have a little fun with it. He’d built an army, and looted a few shops, and used the crowd to keep the police from getting too close to him. But he hadn’t thought they’d send in the Avengers. Because he was a petty criminal: theft, arson at that one place, looting, loitering, vagrancy maybe if the Judge was really hard on him, but the Avengers weren’t necessary!

Then Thor was on him. Barton and Loki and Selvig had all been ordered to protect themselves to protect the mission, and Thor had assumed Warlock would too fight back, but he didn’t. 

Mjölnir struck him in the face, and his neck snapped back with a crack like thunder and Thor dropped the hammer in surprise. The body crumpled to the floor, neck bent unnaturally, and the hammer fell to land beside him. Around them, the people he had controlled collapsed like puppets whose strings had been cut; though some had begun to shake their heads and push themselves carefully back to their feet by the time Thor came to his senses. His friends watched him with wide eyes, uncomprehending, because never before had they killed one of their enemies and even though it was an accident it was still a death. 

“Well, big guy,” Tony said, leaning over to slap Thor on the shoulder, “think of that as practise for Thanos.” Because he couldn’t think of anything else to say, and tense situations made him babble. 

“Point,” Clint agreed, offering Steve a shrug when the man turned wide, horrified blue eyes on him instead of Tony. “There’s no one whose neck I’d love to snap more.” 

The police took care of the body. 

The Avengers took care of Thor, who had not killed a soul since the day he had invaded Jötunheimr and been banished to Midgard and learnt his lesson well about the preciousness of life. His hands shook from shock or from adrenaline Thor wasn’t sure, but he held tight to Mjölnir and allowed his friends to lead him to the waiting Quinjet, and once at the Tower to steer him towards a sofa with warm smiles and condolences and in Tony’s case congratulations for “kicking that jerk’s ass, or, well, neck but whatever!” 

While they celebrated as much as anyone would dare, because there had been a death, but they had also won one more battle in the war against Thanos, Adam Warlock was driven to the closest morgue and his time and cause of death pronounced. The mortician left the room just as the Soul Gem in Adam’s pocket started glowing again, and brown eyes snapped open no hint of Tesseract blue in them, despite the shine of blue the Gem left along his jawline. Adam gasped for breath, throat aching and head pounding but he touched his face and neck and chest and everything seemed to be in working order so he sat up, fished the gem out of his pocket and kissed it. 

“Thank you, I don’t care whoever the fuck you are up there, but thank you! And thank you too, shiny bauble that saved my life. I thought I was a goner when I saw that hammer coming at me, but fuck me! Here I am. Ha!” Adam climbed off of the metal slab and quietly went in search of anything they might have taken out of his pockets, but he hadn’t been there long enough to dress for burial and there was no need for an autopsy, so he was clothed and burdened with his possessions already. And he was ready to leave. 

“Thank you,” he muttered again, leaning his forehead against the doors for a moment after they closed behind him, before he snuck out of the hospital with as little fanfare as he had arrived. 

There were no Gods listening to his thanks, and Death had not been responsible for his life either, but Thanos listened and Thanos heard. Once more He began to make His way to Earth, because that was where His next Gem was waiting for Him. 

**XXX**

1 – The Wizard of Oz is one because, because, because, because, because, because, because of the wonderful things he does. Also, Evanora is the sister of the Wicked Witch, whose magic is also green.   
2 – There is no armor against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings – James Shirley, The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses

* * * 

Thanks for reading! Hopefully the next chapter comes sooner, cause Loki will finally be having his baby and Jörmungandr will turn up at some point too! And hey, Fenrir and Death were in this one, so yay? The Warriors Three will appear in about three chapters, and the X-Men are back in the next with Spiderman and people are going to start suffering soon enough, so hold onto your feels…


	10. Part 09

Hey! Sorry for the wait, but it turned out longer than I thought it would be, so that’s good right? Enjoy! And also my Hot Toys Avengers Loki came today: yay!

* * * 

**Words:** 5,320  
 **Chapter 9**  
October 6th 2015. New Jersey. 

The commonly used phrase is that “it is easier said than done”, but He found that most, if not all, things were done easily when one properly put their minds to it. It had not been hard to break the Trickster and it had not been difficult to steal the first handful of Gems. This, too, was easier done than any would have said or thought it might be. Adam Warlock was a fool, vapid and naïve in the ways of the world, for all his age and experiences, he had yet to learn the most important lesson of all: trust nobody. 

Thanos bumped right into him on the street, face masked by magic, made pale and human and average and Warlock grinned and waved him on, accepting his false apologies without a second thought, too trusting of strangers on the street, too used to the hustle and bustle of a city. The Gem that had been in Adam’s pocket was now in His hand, and His fingers curled around it, tightening until the stone began to cut into purple flesh but He gave no sign of discomfort. 

He only grinned. 

That had been too easy. 

_XXX_

October 18th 2015. Hogwarts. 

Technically the Death Eaters had been disbanded. At the end of the war, they had gone their separate ways, some back to the Ministry (now ruled by Lord Voldemort) and some to their families. There were no raids, until the rebellions started and after they had been crushed there were none after. But just because they were no longer called Death Eaters did not make them less of a family, Voldemort’s chosen family, and when their Marks began to burn each of them apparated to the Dark Lord’s location. Each came armed and robed, masks upon their faces, backs straight and wands ready, and they stood inside of the Great Hall of Hogwarts, long after the school children had been ushered to their beds, and they fell to their knees at the sight of their Lords. 

Harry’s return had not been a secret: he had appeared in the middle of the Great Hall himself a while back, and so many children had seen him. He had accompanied the Inner Circle and Loki after her introduction to meetings on Thanos and his armies, but many of the lesser Death Eaters had yet to see his return for themselves. Their Lord had always been formidable, dangerous and powerful, but not for years had they seen him like this, battle robes over normal robes, tense and full of energy, ready to decimate, to destroy. And they were in awe of him, and of the largest wolf any of them had ever seen, who crouched at his side with one of Loki’s hands buried in the ruff of his neck. 

Loki was pale, and she kept her other hand on the base of her back, trying to rub out the aches caused by pregnancy. She was seven months gone now, her stomach rounder than Harry’s had been but more natural looking on her female body (but the Healer had assured her it was mostly water retention, there and around her feet and ankles too unfortunately). When she wasn’t tired, sore or nauseous, Loki was glowing, smiling widely and offering to let anyone who was interested feel her child kicking. Fenrir’s reappearance had opened new wounds and healed old scars simultaneously. Guilt over his suffering had almost outweighed her happiness at seeing him free and happy now, but the terror of Odin’s coming for them both, and for her daughter, was enough to give her sleepless nights. It was Harry’s arm around her waist, or his lips against her forehead, or his weigh pressing the mattress down beside her that kept her calm when thoughts of their future threatened to overwhelm her. But Fenrir’s presence at her side helped greatly too, and Harry was sure that reuniting Loki with more of his children could only be good for her right now. If Odin came for her, then he came for her, but Harry had Fenrir, Voldemort, Death and the Death Eaters, maybe even the Avengers, to back him up should he have to fight the Allfather to keep his family by his side. 

Though this meeting was about Thanos, and explaining the threat of him to the other Death Eaters, it would end with a surprise for Loki because the team Voldemort had sent out with Fenrir had come through and Jormungandr had been found. 

He appeared like mist rolling in, slow and intangible; steadily growing thicker and darker, turning from grey to the green of Loki’s magic and eyes as he filled the room up. He was curled in all corners, curling like smoke, up and around, out of shape and back into shape again, and his mouth was the same, open and permeable, tongue a long curl of green fog as well. Loki’s hands sank straight through his head, drawing away with wisps of green around her fingers, twisting like vines until the disappeared completely. She tried again, and again, and each time couldn’t touch her son. 

The gigantic snake took up the whole room. The Death Eaters were standing around him, squashed against each other, or they were standing inside of him, legs sliding through the snake like he was water, distorted beneath him but unharmed, like glass reflecting light badly, and they laughed at the sights around them, putting their hands in to watch them warp too. The snake gave a huff of air from his nostrils, shifting in and out of sight as he breathed, as he was smoke and breathing blew smoke away. 

He began to glow, faintly for a moment and lines like scales appeared all across his back, turning darker and darker as if some person was tracing them onto his skin, filling in all the blanks of him until he looked like a snake, made of flesh and blood, real and tangible and Loki grabbed hold of his face between both of her hands and kissed him between the eyes. He shrank in a flash of gold light, until he was a little bigger than Nagini, and he darted forward like a cobra to curl around his Mother and the chair that she sat in, Voldemort’s throne, and he flicked his tongue out at Harry who stood just behind them with one hand on Loki’s shoulder. 

“ **Welcome home, Jormungandr** ,” Harry hissed. He didn’t miss the surprised look Loki sent him, having never heard him speak Parseltongue before, and he ignored the murmurs that spread through the crowd of Death Eaters because they all knew what he was capable of and were probably more surprised by the sight of the incredibly large snake. 

“ **And is this home, human**?” Jormungandr asked, tongue flicking out to taste the air between his face and Harry’s. Harry stared back at him calmly, a half smile on his mouth.

Loki grinned widely. It livened up her whole face. No longer did she look as pale as she had, nor as exhausted, nor as scared: she offered her son a wide, happy smile. She was excited, almost bouncing in her seat despite the weight of Jormungandr on her lap, twisted around the chair and pinning her to it but careful not to press against her stomach. “ **Yes my sweet boy. This is home** ,” she promised him, hands once more on his face. Fenrir shifted closer to the chair, pressing against Loki’s legs and Jormungandr’s dangling tail. “ **No one will take this home from us, nor you from me. Not again, I promise**.” 

Voldemort’s glare kept the rest of the room silent as the family reacquainted themselves and Harry was introduced, and when they pulled out of their quasi-huddle the Dark Lord cleared his throat and called loudly, echoing throughout the room and catching the attention immediately of everyone who had come here to hear him speak. 

“Let me tell you of the Mad Titan, my friends.”

And tell them he did.

_XXX_

November 1st 2015. Asgard. 

Thor had remained on Midgard to continue his search for Loki and Odin had returned alone, unwilling to stay away from Asgard for too long in these turbulent times with only Frigga remaining behind to guard the throne. The Queen tried her best, and though she was strong and brave and beloved by all of the Æsir that did not include Amora, The exiled sorceress had been more than pleased to help Gamora sneak into the weapons vault, causing a distraction and letting Thanos’ assassin sneak right inside. A knife to the throat of the Queen was distraction enough, and it kept the guards’ eyes on her and not on Gamora. 

So while Amora was busy fighting the Einherjers, Gamora searched for the Infinity Gauntlet. She found it, where it had always been, on a pedestal inside of the weapons vault. She grabbed it, disappearing before the Destroyers replacement had a chance to materialise and fire upon her, and she left Amora behind. 

One of the guards managed to knock the knife from Amora’s hand, sending it sliding across the floor until it bounced off of Odin’s shoe. Without the knife to her throat, Frigga was no longer hesitant to act. She reached back with one hand, grabbing hold of a fist full of blonde hair and she clung on tight to keep Amora in place while she jerked her head back, skull breaking her nose with a satisfying crack. Amora’s arms slipped away from Frigga, moving instead to clutch at her face as she screamed in anger: she had always hated having her face marred in a fight. 

The fight lasted longer than Frigga had expected it too. Usually, Amora escaped after first blood, unwilling to risk losing, but now she was angry enough to ignore her better judgement, and when she managed to catch Odin off guard with a powerful burst of magic, knocking Gungnir out of his hands Frigga decided that enough was enough. She was sick of people invading her home, tired of people attacking her family, fed up of Thanos and his accolytes bringing harm to her family, and she was certainly over Odin’s petty punishments and their guards’ failure to keep their prisoners in prison. If Amora wanted a fight, Frigga would give her one. She strode between the sorceress and Odin, her own dagger raised, clutched tightly in her right hand. Her left hand glowed faintly gold, curling around her fingers, like Loki’s magic did too but green, and she raised it to eye level and waited. 

Amora struck first, kicking out at the dagger while throwing a blast of green Seiðr at the Queen. Frigga hissed, turning her face away, cheeking burning as the magic brushed along her skin. She fired back, gold shooting across the room, striking Amora in the stomach and knocking her back two steps. It continued on like that, as Odin and the guards stood watch, unwilling to interfere and risk the wrath of their Queen until it was absolutely necessary, and then Amora gained the upper hand, Frigga’s dagger was gone, plunged into the Queen’s side and then pulled back out and thrown away. Amora laughed, loudly with her head thrown back, uncaring that the Einherjers were raising their weapons against her again. 

Magic glowed at her hand, power literally at her fingertips as she leant down over to the kneeling Queen. Her hand closed over Frigga’s mouth and nose, and though she had lost Frigga continued to glare at her assailant, proud and unbroken. Something jangled at their feet, rolling to a stop just within her reach and Frigga’s hand shot out to grab it. She raised Gungnir, driving the point of it up through Amora’s stomach and out through her back, impaling her upon the spear. Amora gurgled, blood welling and spilling from her mouth, dripping down onto Frigga’s face as her body slid down the spear, gravity pulling her dead weight down until she knelt beside the Queen, held up by Frigga’s hand on Gungnir still. 

Odin meet her gaze. He nodded once and she smiled softly back before letting go of the spear, allowing both it and Amora’s corpse to fall to the ground, rolling until Amora was on her side and the spear pointed straight towards the stunned looking guards. Frigga met their gazes calmly, waiting until Odin reached out a hand to help her before she got to her feet. She probably should have taken Amora alive, probably should have tried her and imprisoned her, but the sorceress probably would have only escaped again. This way she was gone, there was one less snake in Asgard and one less hand raised to strike against her family. 

As Amora died, and Gamora disappeared across galaxies returning to Thanos’ spaceship and His waiting armies, the Titan Himself descended once more to Midgard. Though he searched for Loki and Loki’s lover, He did not find them. Instead, Thor found him. Unfortunately for Thor, the Asgardian was as easily tricked by His disguise as Adam Warlock was. 

One moment, Thor was searching the dark streets for whoever had caused Tony’s magic sensors to spike, and the next he was waking up chained in a basement. What Voldemort had left of Gleipnir, the chains that once bound Fenrir, knotted around both wrists and ankles and the ceiling of the room he was in, with Mjölnir nowhere in sight. 

If Thanos could not find Loki, perhaps the Avengers at least might come looking for their missing friend. They were also on His list of things to deal with. 

_XXX_

November 2nd 2015. Little Hangleton. 

“Hela had the happiest childhood out of all of my children,” Loki said softly. Harry was only just waking up, lying beside his lover with one arm thrown over his face in a futile attempt to block out the sun. The Wizard hummed softly in response, not yet aware enough to form coherent sentences. “She was the only child who was legitimate as well, you know. Other than Eileifer, I mean, but he is not truly mine.”

“He is,” Harry mumbled. Eileifer called Loki “mother”, though she was not biologically his mother, but that didn’t matter where it counted. Loki had fed him, bathed him, rocked him to sleep, loved him as much as Harry had done then and did now, just as much as Voldemort did once he knew the child existed. It took more than biology to make a parent, and Loki made a brilliant one, kind but stern when it was needed, loving and attentive, better than Harry could have ever hoped to be on his own. And Eileifer loved her too, which was the most important thing of all. 

She smiled softly, though Harry couldn’t see, half nodding in agreement. “He was legitimate too. Sleipnir was not, and the others were borne by my mistress who probably hated me as much as she lusted after me. But Hela was my wife’s child, though Sigyn wished not to be wed to me she was and Hela was conceived and birthed while we were married. Do you think,” she started to say, licking her lips nervously as she spoke, “what happened to my sons is a punishment for me having them out of wedlock?” 

Harry frowned, arm sliding off of his face as he turned to look at Loki. Back when Loki was young, Harry wasn’t sure if people actually cared about that stuff. In the eighteen hundreds, yeah maybe, but the Vikings really didn’t seem the sort if he thought about it honestly. Purebloods now were sticklers about marrying before having kids, or marrying the second you realised you had knocked someone up: the number of girls in school who had tried to start rumours that Harry had gotten them pregnant was ridiculous, and probably contributed an awful lot to Harry’s remaining a virgin until _he_ actually got married himself. But to take someone’s child away to punish them for not getting married was taking it a bit too far even for people like the Malfoys. 

Harry couldn’t see why Loki would believe that (think it, yes, because it was obviously something that had been said to him before, but to actually believe that he deserved to lose his kids, to have them tortured and torn from him, because he hadn’t married their mother or a horse was ridiculous). Harry opened his mouth to say as much before he stopped, grinding his teeth to keep his tongue silent. Loki’s face was pale again, sallow rather than just sun deprived. She was licking her lips nervously again and both hands were pressed against the naked swell of her stomach, fingers brushing skin compulsively. Wide green eyes met his own. The fear in them was easy to read and Harry sighed loudly as he reached out to take hold of one of Loki’s hands, pulling it up to his mouth so that he could kiss the knuckle of her ring finger.

“Will you marry me?” He whispered, knowing her well enough to know it was what she wanted but would never ask for in case Harry refused her, unwilling to trap anyone into a marriage again and knowing that Harry had never wanted his first marriage so would not force him into a second. 

“Before the baby comes?” Loki’s eyes narrowed, though she didn’t pull her hand away. 

“Just as soon as we hunt Hela down and get a marriage license.” 

“I want to get married here, on Midgard, with all of your Midgardian customs.” Harry glanced at her with an eyebrow raised and Loki smiled back surely, turning onto her side slowly so that she could wiggle a little closer to her fiancé. “This is my home now, here, with you wherever you may be, and I want to be a part of this world. Following your customs and traditions is only a logical part of that process. I’ve already had a part-time job and a pet.”

Harry chuckled. One arm slipped underneath her, curled and pulling until they were pressed as close as their baby would let them get. “Next thing you know, you’ll be driving a people carrier and taking up two parking spaces because that’s what mum’s in people carriers do.” There was an insult there but Loki didn’t understand the joke so she just huffed, not even bothering to pretend to be annoyed as she pressed a kiss to Harry’s chest. He let her sleep for an hour before he slid from the bed. 

Loki didn’t even notice him go; she was too busy talking to her daughter in Helheimr, rolling her eyes as Hela whispered “I told you so” with a hand pressed to Loki’s kicking daughter, before inviting her to the wedding. 

They got married six days later. It was a small affair, and though Harry had tried to invite Clint and Tony, nobody was picking up the phone at Avengers Tower except Jarvis who didn’t know where anyone had gone. Fenrir, Jormungandr and Hela were there, though Sleipnir could not be, so Loki was happy. Thor was still held hostage by Thanos, though Loki was not aware of this nor would he ever be, but even if the Asgardian could have made it Loki wouldn’t have invited him anyway. She did wish her mother could have been there, though she looked ridiculous in her white robes with her belly sticking out so far and the stupid veil Midgardian’s used blocking most of her vision so Hela was forced to guide her down the aisle with one hand on her arm, Loki would have liked to see Frigga smile at her proudly as she said, “I do.” 

She didn’t ask to contact her though, and when Harry offered Loki told him no because she was still too worried about Odin coming for their daughter and for the other children now that they were all in one place, despite that they were grown and capable of defending themselves. Mother’s worry though, and Loki’s certainly would if she knew they were planning to take on the Mad Titan, and he was on Midgard, not Asgard, so Frigga was safer left there anyway. 

They got married and ate cake and danced until Loki’s feet started to hurt, and when she was tired Harry took her to bed and came back to thank their guests. Eileifer out lasted most of the guest, the toddler full of energy and more than content to be chased by his new found siblings around the Riddle manor until he was caught and bathed and put to bed, still pouting, as his father congratulated his ex-husband on his new wife in the next room. 

While none of Loki’s old family could be there along with his new family, Heimdallr watched and when it was over he whispered the news into Huginn’s ear. Heimdallr watched too as the raven winged his way back to the palace, and he watched as Frigga cried at the news, hands pressed to her mouth and Odin’s arms around her waist with her forehead against his shoulder, exclaiming their joy at the news of the wedding and the baby both because Heimdallr couldn’t keep it to himself much longer and Thor was taking far too long to uncover their lost Prince. He could not watch Thor, and that worried him, but he could see the Titan and Thor was not with him, so he took a moment to celebrate the good news without tainting it with the bad.

_XXX_

November 9th 2015. Unknown location. 

Clint and Tony would have loved to have gone to Harry’s wedding, even though they didn’t know the lucky guy (who was currently a girl, but they didn’t know that either, or that she was actually Loki God of Mischief or pregnant), but they were Harry’s friends even though they didn’t know that much about each other. They had fought together and drank together and that made Harry an honorary Avenger as far as they were concerned, and Harry had been kind to them, despite the risks inherent with knowing them he hadn’t left them behind, but stood up to the Titan and tried to back them up that one time. So they would have been honoured to have been invited. Unfortunately, they were rescued the day _after_ the wedding. 

Spiderman arrived first, with a lot less ‘oomph’ than his entrances usually had. Well there was an oomph, but that was the air being knocked out of his lungs as he crashed down through the ceiling. But there were no witty barbs this time however and no cocky come hither hand motion, instead Peter cut off a scream as he crashed face first into Steve, his masked face against Captain America’s groin. “You’re going to have to buy me dinner now,” he narked as he pulled away, shakily getting to his feet and glancing around the room. 

The Avengers hung from the ceiling in a circle, pieces of Gleipnir holding them in place, until Spiderman had taken half the roof down with him. Thor and Tony had crumpled to the ground, cement falling around them and on top of them, but both were groaning so at least they were alive. Natasha was knocked to the side as the beam she was chained to swung away from the hole and bounced off of the wall. She lay with one leg trapped under it, murmuring profanities in Russian as she struggled to wriggle free. Clint and Steve stayed where they were, arms tied over their heads, their part of the ceiling still intact— until the Scarlet Witch came down through it, followed closely by Shadowcat. Wanda’s head slammed against the ground, and she lay there unmoving, but Kitty was on her feet in a second, jumping back up through the hole and phasing her way through any parts of the structure that came too close for comfort. Spiderman swung up after her, leaving the basement with a jaunty, “we should hang out more often, guys,” aimed at the previously hanging Avengers. 

Gambit’s rather distinctive accent was easily picked out over the sounds of fighting above them. The Hulk gave a roar every now and then, but most of his attention remained on the cluster of Gems at his feet. He was not chained to the ceiling, instead his hands were tied behind his back, Gleipnir drawing blood they were so tight but he knew he couldn’t leave without the others or with the Gems still in Thanos’ possession and he could not break the chains, so he waited despite how badly he wanted to join the fight and smash someone through a wall. 

They could hear Nightcrawler’s accent and Storm’s and Rouge’s, and there was Wolverine’s sarcastic drawl, the ‘snick’ of his claws emerging. The sound of gunshots followed, chased by Cylops’ put upon sigh and shouted, “X-Men don’t shoot people!” But the last person anyone expected to see jump down through the hole in the ceiling was Adam Warlock. 

“You’re dead!” Clint exclaimed, raising his chained hands in front of his chest, ready to defend himself if need be. 

Warlock paid them no attention; his focus was on the Gems at the Hulk’s feet. “He’s not up there, you know,” Adam said after a moment, “which is lucky for him because I’m really annoyed about him stealing my bauble. I’m here to take it back by the way.”

“Hulk’s Gems,” the Hulk grunted. His eyes were narrowed, head down and shoulders hunched defensively as he crouched over the Gems. “Hulk protect.”

“They’re mine! Give them back!” Adam wanted the Soul Gem back, and he wanted to get out of there while the X-Men were busy with Thanos’ goons and the Titan was gone. But now that he had seen them, he wanted the others as well. 

Thor held out his hand for Mjölnir, calling the hammer to him. It flew from where he had dropped it during Thanos’ ambush, knocking out half of the foundations on that side of the house as it flew into the basement, cracking the chains and Thor’s wrists as it landed on top of them. Thor’s wrists would heal and he ignored the pain as he shook the shackles off, one hand clenching around Mjölnir’s handle as the bones began to knit back together. 

“Release,” he commanded, touching the hammer to his comrades’ wrists in turn, beaming widely as each of them was released from the chains. Hulk didn’t wait to be released though; he dived towards Adam as the human attempted to slip between his legs and grab the Gems. The Hulk’s hands came down on Adam’s back, snapping his spine in half. He might have survived if the force of the Hulk’s punch hadn’t shaken what was left of the foundations, caving in another portion of the ceiling right on Warlock’s head. Without the Gem in his possession, the man would stay dead this time, and the Avengers would be joining him shortly if they stayed for much longer. 

“We have to get out of here. Hulk,” Steve ordered, pointing his finger at the behemoth who stared sullenly down at his broken opponent, “grab the Gems and get out of here. Team, clear out. Grab the X-Men on the way and the rest of the Avengers.”

When the Hulk reached down for the Gems, his fingers closed around Thor’s ring, still embedded with the Space Gem where a normal stone should have been, and the Time Gem but the others flickered and disappeared, like one of Loki’s clones. It was so similar in fact that Thor glanced around, calling, “brother?” hopefully into the darkened corners of the room. No one answered him, and the others ushered him out hurriedly as the building continued to come down around their heads. 

Gamora watched them escape, contemplated killing them all where they stood, but resisted for she knew her Master wished for the pleasure himself. They would be His gifts to His lover, and Gamora had no wish to come between the Mad Titan and his mistress Death. 

_XXX_

December 12th 2015. St Mungos Hospital. 

Labour was just as horrible as Loki remembered it to be. No, that was a lie. His last labour had been worse, worse even than Sigyn’s for he had been alone in a forest and horses couldn’t scream so he had whined and whinnied and kicked his legs out, and his wife at least had squeezed his hand tightly and screamed her displeasure to the world. He had missed both of Angrboða labours but they must have been harder than Sigyn’s, with primitive medicine and the cold wastes of Jötunheimr to lie out in. 

So in comparison, no this labour wasn’t that horrible, because she had medicine and Harry and her other children waiting outside in the hall to meet their sister. She could scream when a contraction hurt and she could squeeze Harry’s hand until his bones creaked whenever she was told to _push_ and the epidural took the edge off, but it was still horrible. And yet, once the Healer placed their daughter in her arms, everything was suddenly worthwhile, welcomed even. She would go through that pain, pregnancy and labour both, a hundred times more if it meant that she could end up with such a gift as this. 

Her daughter, their daughter, she corrected as she glanced at the awe struck Wizard standing by her side, was perfect. Beautiful and human and whole, with her mother’s pale skin and her father’s dark messy hair and she would have their eyes, green and bright and wide with wonder when they changed colour at last but for now they were blue. 

“I love you,” Loki whispered. She handed the child to Harry while she delivered the afterbirth and the Healer cleaned her up. Once the Witch was gone, Loki shifted back, no longer needing to be female when she could be himself and still have his child. Harry moved to sit beside his husband, perched on the edge of the bed. 

“We’ll have to get married again,” Harry told him, handing back their daughter to Loki who held his arms out eagerly. “Or change your gender on the certificate if we can.” 

“We can get married the Wizard’s way this time, if you wish? I would not mind.” 

They talked softly amongst themselves until the baby started to fuss and Loki had to shift back in order to breastfeed her. His other child had been as patient as they could be, but eventually they barged into the room with Lord Voldemort bringing up the rear, Eileifer in his arms. “Well?” Hela already knew, so she was the only one who didn’t ask, voices clamouring to be heard first as they spoke over one another, but Harry only snorted in amusement having been well used to the Weasleys doing the same thing. “What is it?”

“She,” Loki said, drawing out the word for emphasis, “is Sigrid Potter.”

“Lokadottir,” Harry tacked on quickly, his voice soft but sure. Loki stared at him with wide eyes, mouth slack with surprise because they had never talked about that and Loki’s surname was Potter now too just like Eileifer’s was. “I have absolutely no doubt that you’ll want to show her off, and how can you do so properly if she doesn’t have your name, hmm?” Harry grinned, winking in response to the eye roll Fenrir made in his direction. Jormungandr was curled around his brother’s shoulders and neck and he hissed out a low laugh, tongue flicking out to try and catch the scent of his new sister. 

“Sigrid Lokadottir,” Loki repeated slowly, liking the way it sounded immediately after she had said it. “Welcome to your new home, my love.”

**XXX**

* * * 

Thank you to Caramel-Raven for picking Sigrid’s name, like, a year ago. It means “Beautiful Victory” if anyone is wondering. 

I’m sorry this chapter was a long time coming, but you will not believe the difficulty I had starting and ending it. Hopefully the next part will come a bit sooner, because I’m refusing to start When The Levee Breaks until this one is done (that’s my AU the Chitauri won multi-chaptered fiction by the way). 

If you enjoyed it, please let me know! (Fuck me, it’s 4am, time flies when you’re having fun).


	11. Part 10

Sorry this took so long, I accidentally packed up my notebook with all of my chapter notes into one of my moving boxes. I went looking for a coat and found it though, fortunately, so here is the next chapter. With any luck, there’ll only be one more to go. 

Enjoy. 

* * *

**Words:** 7,602  
 **Chapter 10**  
December 31st 2015. Little Hangleton. 

She was known to pick favourites and favour those few above all others. Many sought her favour, some even prayed to her despite knowing that she was not a God and incapable of sparing life. Some she warned, some she gifted with artefacts that could hide them from her, others she whispered the secrets to immortality into their ears while they slept; but when it was time for her to take them, took them she did. There was no mercy; no piteous begging would save men from Death. But those she favoured were known to live longer than all others. 

Thanos knew as much; Thanos sought to be one of the favoured, and for some time He was. She loved him, a little, back then. Back when it was new and shiny and He was something that she had yet to conquer. But the shine had long since faded, and his madness had taken centre stage instead, bright and beautiful in its terribleness, growing steadily until not even Death could ignore it any longer. So she chose a new favourite— for some time her eye had been turned to the Silver Surfer, who led Galactus to other worlds, who committed repeated genocides by enabling, but who was always, always sorry for it. Lord Voldemort was never sorry, nor merciful (though he claimed otherwise), and he did what he had to do to defend those he favoured. Just as Death did, when she could. 

It came as no surprise to Harry that Death had picked his ex-husband as her new champion. Lord Voldemort was a little more surprised; pale faced and wide eyed as Luna reached towards him in the middle of a meeting and pressed her hands to his cheeks and her lips to his own and kissed him. 

“I want for something more than death,” she whispered against his mouth, lips brushing softly over his own and making him shudder. 

Even though she was Death, there was more to life than dying. Luna Lovegood was, in her own opinion, just like every other woman. So she still looked like a teenage girl; Harry hadn’t aged either. And so what if she was immortal, because Lord Voldemort was too, as all of her lovers were wont to be. She had needs and wants and desires, she didn’t really want children for she had people like Harry and her other favourites to take care of, but she wanted to be loved, to be desired and feel special and the way Voldemort was looking at her right then made her feel like she was more beautiful than any other person in any of the worlds. It was similar to how Harry looked at Loki, but different because there was love in Harry’s gaze as well as the wonder and lust that Voldemort’s eyes were bright with. Luna blushed at the Dark Lord, cheeks pink and mouth wet from the kiss, and Harry winked at her when she glanced towards him. He was happy for her, for both of them, and though he had never been in love with Voldemort he loved them both because they were his family. 

“I want to live,” Luna whispered again, and this time it was Voldemort who kissed her. 

_XXX_

January 8th 2016. New York City. 

As with every great battle, civilians got in the way. 

Thanos and His armies razed New York to the ground. The Chitauri army began heading towards Jersey and the other army of creatures that no one could identify remained with their master. They spread through the streets, like rodents covering every inch of the town above and below ground. They cornered people who tried to run and they chased the people who actually did run, and with every new scream of fear the Avenger closest tried to reach them, tried to save them, but only ended up getting snuck up on from behind. 

One couple ran right in front of Iron Man’s repulsor blast, and Tony ended up having to fly faster than his weaponry to shove them out of the way. He got blasted instead though, knocking him right into a swarm of Deviants. While Tony struggled out of their grasp, Thor was busy flying screaming civilians clear of the streets, dumping them on the roof tops of the few still standing buildings where the alien forces had yet to reach. When he wasn’t rescuing people, he was attempting to electrocute as many aliens as he could get huddled together. Captain America was trying to clear the way to Thanos so the Black Widow could try out SHIELD’s newly finished weapon, but again, New Yorkers had a horrible habit of getting in the way. Scarlet Witch and her brother, Quick Silver, weren’t having much better luck. Clint was probably the most successful of the lot so far, hidden away on a roof top, happily shooting arrows at every creature that came within his sights. 

No one bothered to check up on the Hulk, because he was the Hulk, and nothing was gonna take him out of the game. It was an unfortunate oversight on their part, but how were they to know it was even possible? How could the Avengers have even guessed such a thing could happen, but happen it did. 

Gamora teleported directly behind the Hulk. She laughed loudly, baiting the green behemoth into turning around. When his back was fully turned, Thanos laughed, reaching into His robe and pulling out the large golden glove that had been previous tucked away, safely hidden from sight. He slid it onto His right hand, the fingers curling and uncurling twice slowly as He tested out the feel of the gauntlet and then His left hand slotted the same blue gem that He had stolen from Adam Warlock into the slot above the knuckle where His middle finger met His palm. It shone brightly for a moment, bright enough that even the Hulk (whose back was turned to it) glanced over his shoulder with furrowed brows. 

1“Death answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, and thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face,” Thanos whispered, as the fingers of His left hand caressed the Soul Gem. He raised His right hand, fingers straight out towards the Hulk and then He clenched it into a fist. As He did so, light shot towards the Hulk, surrounding him, bright and beautiful and deadly for it brought the creature to his knees with a howl. The other Avengers turned towards him at the noise, Thor reaching him first with his hammer held before him, but the Hulk only stood and batted the God aside. 

“A gauntlet with a gift in it,” Thanos added softly, chuckling, as He glanced down at the blue gem that glowed from the inside out, swirls of what had been Bruce Banner’s soul trapped within its confines. 

The Hulk roared, his head thrown back and his fists beating off of his chests. He turned to Thor again, grabbed him by the legs and swung him like a bat, knocking Iron Man out of the air. As the other Avengers turned their attention to the Hulk too, the Deviants disappeared into buildings and the subway and into alleys out of sight and Thanos took his leave. The Hulk would keep the Avengers out of the way long enough for Him to do what needed to be done. 

_XXX_

February 1st 2016. Avengers Tower. 

There was Death. 

Then there was her Master. The Master of Death. 

After him came the Death Gods: Hela, Mephisto, Hades, and scores more, all of them the Gods of their dead, rulers of their afterlives, acolytes of Death. 

And then there was Thanos. 

He who sought to own Death as his own, His lover, mistress and God. He who murdered countless people, decimated civilizations, ended entire worlds in her name and yet He had still not been granted the status of a God, the privilege of being on par with Death herself. He was still but a man, one of Titan though, not Earth, His own vanquished planet, whose people had been too stupid to follow His rule and so had been dealt with accordingly; but just a man nonetheless. Out classed and out matched by Death’s new lover, her _Master_ as she called him. 

Thanos scoffed. He narrowed His eyes, mouth curling down and the skin around its edges cracking and peeling away like dried purple plaster. Luna stood before him, in what had used to be the Avengers base of operations, with her arms folded under her breasts. 

The Avengers had been forced to hide out on the Helicarrier, hidden somewhere above the skyline of New York, moving from place to place keeping an eye out for opportune moments to attempt to seize back the city, but so far they were having little luck. The Hulk was still causing damage to the city, more than even the Chitauri had the first time they had invaded. Thanos had taken over the Tower, claiming it as His own, a beacon of desolation splitting the skyline, in the midst of the ruins of New York, a sight that no one could possibly miss. The Fantastic Four had managed to evacuate as many people as they could and others were encouraged to walk the subway lines into neighbouring States where the X-Men and the Brotherhood waited to collect them. The Ghost Rider did what he could, but most times he was more dangerous than he was helpful, and Nick Fury wasn’t all that comfortable letting him loose on what remained of the populace. 

Anyone who wasn’t saved was probably dead or left to the mercies of the Chitauri, who were rather known to enjoy playing with their prey first. The Deviants were unconcerned by any stray human they found, and in the month that had passed, most remaining humans had learnt fast to pretend to be dead, lying on the ground or slumped against walls, holding their breath, desperately praying for mercy, until the threat passed by. 

The Superheroes were doing all they could, but it was hard to find somewhere to land the Helicarrier these days amongst the rubble and ruin of the city and there was no point landing outside of New York because there was now some sort of strange magical barrier around the edge of the State and everywhere within state lines was patrolled by vicious aliens. Thanos kept calling more and more of them to him, Kree and Skrulls and Arthrians, Trolls and Korbinites; they just kept coming, the Big Apple their playground and Thanos their school master. Luna watched the servant races ravage the place with a look of detachment on her face, staring out of the window for want of not wanting to look at Thanos. 

“This is pointless,” she told him softly, voice light and airy and simply Luna-like. 

She knew that Harry was gathering an army, as were Hela, Voldemort, Fenrir and Odin. There would be surprises in store for Thanos when they arrived, Luna knew, for no one could have guessed at some of the alliances those particular people might have forged, might never have forged at all if not for Thanos’ attack. But they would ally, the Giants of Jötunheimr and the armies of the dead in Helheimr, under the banner of Hela Lokadottir. Odin would call forth the armies of Asgard, if Thor could ever find a way of getting them here en mass, armed to the teeth and blood thirsty, fighting against the Titan side by side with the Frost Giants and Fenrir Lokason’s werewolves. Lord Voldemort, Death’s _actual_ lover would bring his Death Eaters and the Aurors. Harry was attempting to use his sway as Death’s Master to convince some of the other Death Gods (aside from Hela) to join the fight but was so far having no luck: the problem with the Gods of the Dead was that they grew used to dead people, grew slow and complacent and themselves resembled the dead, unmoving, uncaring, petrifying from lack of care. But Loki was having better luck, having transported himself across the worlds, just like he used to do, while Jörmungandr watched over Sigrid for him, to Svartalfheimr and Malekith’s Dark Elves. An old friend of his, Luna knew, an old teacher of magic before Surtur’s sword drove a wedge between them and started a war Malekith couldn’t hope to win against Asgard’s golden army. But if anyone could sway Malekith the Accursed back into their good graces it was Loki Silvertongue. 

“You cannot possibly hope to win?” She asked Thanos, turning her head slowly so that she could see the shock cross His face. It was there for less than a second before it morphed into rage, twisting His mouth and narrowing His eyes. 

“What must it take, woman?” He shouted at her, long passed endearments and nicknames. His hands were clenched at His sides, the urge to reach out to squeeze her neck until her head popped off almost impossible to resist but He did it by imagining it was Loki in her place and his death could not be so swift. “How must I win your favour? Millennia of death and destruction, offerings in your name and yours alone, and you still refuse me? You dare! How do I become like you! Why will you not accept me as your God?” His teeth were bared, sharp and yellow but Luna stared impassively at them for she had seen sharper and she had received worse treatment. She was, after all, much older than Thanos was, and back when human first walked the Earth they were a lot less civilised (and that went for all cultures, not just the ones on Midgard). 

“You will never be like me. I am Death. I am apart. I am alone. Occasionally I choose a companion, and occasionally someone is worthy of me, but you,” she said, raking her eyes up and down Thanos’ form. She looked away, having found something wanting, and continue staring out of the window at the destruction before she finished, “you? I will never be _your_ anything! I have chosen my Champion already and you could never hope to compare, Titan.”

She disappeared then, with a crack of apparation. Luna was gone just in time to miss the coffee table Thanos threw in her direction; it smashed into the window behind where she had been standing and fell to join the rubble below, so many pieces of shattered glass and metal, twisted and ruined and worthless. Just like this wretched city, this worthless planet. Like HER. 

Thanos clenched His fists again, nails digging into palms until blood started to drip, spattering on the ground by His feet and still He clenched them harder, grinding His teeth in anger. She would see, He thought murderously. He would elevate himself, without her, He didn’t need her and her pity and her vapid, transitory affections. He would become a God without her, in spite of her, and once He was all the cosmos would tremble at His might. Even Lady Death would fall at His feet: begging, pleading as He ripped the heart from her chest and ate it, took it into himself and became her. Replaced her. He would be better than her, stronger, vaster and more merciless. None would defy Him and He would have no _master_. Thanos would kill him too, destroy him molecule by molecule, dragging it out for as long as the world kept spinning, a little piece every day, every month, every year, until he was mad with pain, and Thanos would kill him, bring him back again, and then He would start all over. He would revel in the pain, the fear and screams, and Loki would suffer along with this usurper, this Master of Death, and the Thunderer would join them, a death more fleeting perhaps, along with the Avengers’. But Loki’s and this… man’s, Thanos would make them _last_. 

And then She would see who exactly was unworthy of whom. 

_XXX_

February 14th 2016. Little Hangleton. 

For Valentine’s Day Voldemort had taken Luna for a walk and then a picnic and to the theatre. It was nothing that a normal girl wouldn’t have enjoyed; no exaggerated gifts of body parts or the blood of virgins or a war started in someplace. And she was overjoyed. 

Loki had given the children to his elder progeny. Fenrir and Jörmungandr were happy to mind the 29-month-old Eileifer and 2-month-old Sigrid while Hela continued to amass her armies. Harry hadn’t been expecting anything. As far as he knew Loki should have still been on Svartalfheimr until that night when they were all supposed to meet on Midgard, ready for battle. Harry had arrived back from Hades, bone tired and stinking of ashes. He hadn’t been too fond of Mephisto, though he reminded Harry of Loki at times: the demon took far too much amusement at the events in the Arena of Tormented Souls for Harry to really warm up to him. He kept glancing at the red skinned man from the corner of his eyes, waiting for the knife in his back or the hand that would rip out his lungs. He was witty and wily and dangerous, and absolutely no help at all once he learnt that Hela would be there. Apparently, demons were like any other spurned lover. 

The Wizard was glad to be back. Though the war, or their war rather since the humans’ attempt at fighting back had failed spectacularly already, would start that night and he would miss out on a Valentines with Loki (separated as they were by different worlds), it was a relief to kick off his shoes and throw his shirt on the ground once he was back in his room. 

Loki watched him from the bed. He lay back against the pillows, pale and naked and very male once more. His legs were spread a little apart, just enough to see the shine of lube between his cheeks, long grown bored of waiting for Harry to get back and having resorted to touching and preparing himself. His cock was hard, slick with pre-come, hands unable to keep themselves from stroking leisurely as he watched his husband undress. 

“I need a bath,” Harry muttered to himself. He rolled his shoulders back, easing out the tension and turned to make his way to the adjacent bathroom but Loki’s voice had him turning back with a grin. 

“Why bother when I’m only going to get you dirty again anyway?” The God drawled, as he looked up at Harry from beneath his eyelids. Harry’s smile stretched wider and Loki met it with one of his own, teeth sharp and white and hungry as his eyes took in the sight of his husband hurriedly undressing. 

From there it became a battle between hands and legs and mouths, both trying to touch as much, feel as much, as they possibly could. It ended with Loki on his stomach, knees curled a little under him so that his ass was in full view, cheeks spread by his own hands and his face mashed into a pillow as he panted, impaled on Harry’s cock. The Wizard took him from behind, thrusts sharp and vicious, back arched for a better angle and Loki gave a shriek each time his prostate was pressed against. It was loud and messy and rough. It had been months since they had been able to have sex like this, unrestrained and passionate; Sigrid cried too much at night to risk being away from her for too long, and Loki uncomfortable with the child being in the same room as the amorous couple; before that she had been heavily pregnant, uncomfortable with all positions but greedy for Harry’s cock nonetheless, satisfying herself with sucking him off, his seed in her mouth rather than in her cunt. But now they were free to do as they pleased, be as loud as they wanted, and Loki’s cries could surely be heard from the other side of the manor. 

Hips stuttered and jerked as Harry came, hands like vices on Loki’s hips, squeezing him until the God cried out at the pain. It sent like jolts of pleasure through his body, straight down his cock, and he came untouched, just from the feel of Harry in him, over him, loving him and hurting him at the same time. They panted together. Loki let his legs slip down under him, until he was lying flat on his stomach, hair blocking his face as he tried to catch his breath. Harry lay on top of him, punching what little air Loki had retained out of his lungs, before he rolled to the side with a soft apology. 

Loki hummed in response, turning on his side to glance at his husband. His eyes landed on the ring he wore soon after and Loki couldn’t help but smile. He wore a different wedding ring now, the one Harry had given him two weeks ago when they remarried and signed the license “Loki Odinson” instead of “Friggadottir”. He stared at it as Harry curled towards him, an arm draped over his waist and the other wriggling between Loki’s head and his pillow so Harry could wrap around him completely. 

“We have two hours before we have to leave.”

Harry snorted. “We’ve talked about my lack of Godly recovery time, love.” 

Loki’s hand snaked down under the sheets, wrapping around limp flesh confidently. “I’m sure I could convince you,” he whispered as he leant in to kiss the Wizard, slow and hungry, tracing every part of the inside of his mouth, tasting all aspects of him; enjoying him thoroughly. 

_XXX_

They were dressed and ready to go. Loki had recovered the Casket of Ancient Winters in his travels, and since it worked in a similar manner to the Tesseract, they were using it to transport some of their army into New York. It glowed blue in his hands, turning the skin on his arms (slowly snaking its way up his chest beneath his clothes and out of the collar, tinting his throat and jaw too until it covered his skin all over; reaching down his legs to his feet too) a vibrant cobalt, traced with lines in a darker shade, almost black, that spelt out something that Loki couldn’t read. Since Harry, Loki had been unable to be ashamed of the colour of his skin, though he made no attempt to flaunt it either. Death Eaters stared, and those who stared too long were met with a growl from Fenrir and a glare from Harry, but Loki ignored them all because beside him Malekith stood, skin blue on one side only and grey on the other (similar to Hela’s appearance, in fact), and the Elf was proud of how he looked. Loki was not proud, per se, but he was not ashamed, and he would not be cowed by humans, nor by Asgardians when they finally arrived. 

He kept his head high as Malekith greeted him formally, returning the greeting with equal pomp. They introduced him to Voldemort, who greeted him and nodded towards his army, all of whom bowed their heads low in respect at their Lord’s signal. The werewolves waited, some wolven and some in human form, though Fenrir choose to stand proudly on all four legs at his mother’s side. His muzzle was flecked with spittle, eager for something to sink his teeth into after spending so long at peace. 

Luna kept the two children. Eileifer was tucked against her side, green eyes wide at the sight of so many people, and Sigrid was cradled gently in her arms, fast asleep, the current events not concerning the young princess at all. It was not her place to make war, but the least she could do to help her favoured people was to mind their young while they fought for her- and the New Yorkers too, Death supposed. 

“Are we ready?” Harry asked. He glanced around the room, eyes travelling from one group to the next and then the next, taking them all in, from the nervous looking ones at the back to those who stood front and centre with weapons in hand and bloodlust brightening their eyes. 

“We are ready,” Lord Voldemort answered softly. The atrium was so silent all gathered heard his words, straightening their backs in response and holding their breath as Loki activated the Casket. 

The room was bathed in blue light, hoarfrost creeping along the walls and windows and the ground froze beneath their feet as each one of the soldiers disappeared from sight. They vanished in a flash of blue, covered in what looked like fire that burned cold, flickering around their waists as they travelled from one place to another and it fizzled out at their arrival, hissing and sputtering as if someone had thrown water over it, extinguishing it. The Elves were the first to recover for they travelled in a similar way. The Death Eaters were used to apparating and the occasional splinching; they orientated themselves soon enough. But the werewolves had not been fond of magic to begin with, choosing to distance themselves from the Wizarding World until Voldemort had asked Fenrir to return, and the Casket left them feeling irritable and vulnerable. They snapped and snarled, each shifting until they were all wolves, gathered together in a huddle, teeth bared at the humans and Elves. 

Fenrir let them be: it would be better for them to be worked up now then to send them into battle calm and complacent and risk them getting killed before they had even realised there was a danger. Forewarned is forearmed, after all, and what kind of a leader would he be if he didn’t arm his army before sending them to war? He nodded towards his mother, pushing Loki’s leg lightly with his paw as he walked passed. The Casket flashed again, icicles clinging to its corners, and the wolves howled, angry and pained, and Loki almost felt guilty, but he too understood the necessity. People could prepare themselves, tell themselves that they needed to be ready, but animals reacted through instincts. They were no longer human, rather wolves, and so far there was nothing around to threaten them but Loki. 

“What’s the plan?” Someone asked. A Death Eater Harry didn’t recognize from the war, likely the son of one of the others, perhaps dead or aged too much to fight now while Harry remained trapped in the body of an eighteen year old and Voldemort that of a man in his mid-thirties. 

“We need to retrieve the Tesseract,” Loki told them. The Casket stayed in his hands, held out in front of him as his eyes scanned the area for movement. “Likely, the Titan will keep it close to himself. If we can decimate his army enough to call him forth, perhaps…” He trailed off, not wanting to be the one to accidentally volunteer himself for the task of stealing back the cube. 

In the end no one volunteered, nor had the chance to do so. The Chitauri descended upon them a moment after Loki fell silent, like locusts during a plague, they came from everywhere and swarmed over everything, even each other, as they tried to reach the small army that waited for them out in the open. Loki froze the first wave, and the other Chitauri crushed them beneath their feet as they surged forward. The werewolves dived right in, biting and tearing at flesh, claws gouging and ripping, and any alien unfortunate enough to be caught by them screamed as they died. They didn’t try and defend their teammates, unlike the Death Eaters who fired spells over their comrades’ shoulders to kill anyone sneaking up from behind, or the werewolves who jumped over injured pack mates to rip out the throat of the one that hurt them. Even the Elves looked out for each other, fighting back to back and never separating from their partner. Loki was on his own, the Casket held in one hand while the other twirled the sceptre Thanos had once gifted to him (that Harry had gotten back from Tony, who had stolen it from SHIELD and asked no questions about why). He fired off magic left and right, Harry and Voldemort doing likewise, and any of their dead rose to their feet after a minute, drawn by the power of the Resurrection Stone that Harry still wore like an engagement ring. 

They were doing well enough alone until the Deviants arrived; fortunately they had been chased in their direction by some of the Avengers. So with more enemies came more friends and Iron Man took the time to flip up his face mask and wolf whistle at Harry. 

“Hello gorgeous, haven’t aged a day, have you?” He winked once, firing a repulsors blast from his left hand at the same time. Harry rolled his eyes, laughing softly as he waved his wand over his head, green light spilling from its tip. 

“Is that _Loki_?!” Clint screamed, from wherever he was hidden, his voice overly loud from the ear piece in Tony’s helmet. 

Tony turned to look Loki up and down, before casting a glance up at the quinjet that had followed him over with Clint and Steve on board. His gaze stopped halfway on its journey though, distracted by a man with pointed ears whose face was split down the middle with each side a different colour. “Better question is,” Tony responded, a small grin starting to form on his lips, “where did you find Harvey Dent, and is Batman with you too?” 

“Shut up, Tony,” came Steve’s long suffering voice from his ear piece. He jumped out of the back of the quinjet, easily joining in the fray, throwing punches at any enemy who came too close. 

“No one appreciates my humour,” he lamented as the face plate closed and sealed again. He drifted towards Harry, who seemed to be holding his own rather well, and then towards Loki who was slowly being enclosed by a circle of viciously pleased looking Deviants. “I take it your Harry’s baby daddy?” Loki cast him one quick, confused glanced before he carried on fighting. “Suppose I better help you out then.”

“I believe the term you should have sought to use is actually ‘baby momma’.” Loki corrected him, in the same arrogant tone of voice that Tony remembered being told “you should have kept your armour on for that” four years ago. “Though, we married before our daughter was born.” Tony just stared at him unmoving, even as a Chitauri jumped up to grab hold of one ankle. Loki was prompted to continue, snorting a little as he imagined the look of confusion Tony was probably sporting beneath the helmet. “I was led to believe that such names referred to unmarried couples, and since Harry was married when he birthed his son and we were married when our daughter was born, neither term is actually relevant.” He teleported them, allowing the Deviants to fall into each other as they simultaneously dived forward to catch him, and he turned while aiming the Casket at them to freeze as many as he could in one go. 

Tony was left with the stragglers, whoever managed to free themselves from their frozen comrades and the few Chitauri who still were attempting to pull him out of the sky by their weight alone. He shot at them, mind still buzzing with the knowledge that Harry had two children and Loki had been pregnant too. “Does Thor know you got married?” Tony shouted after the God. Loki only offered him a narrow eyed stare as if daring the mortal to tell on him before he continued with what he was doing, or rather continued beating whoever that was into the ground. 

Thanos never came though, and so they were forced to call it a night. Some of the invaders remained to fight another day, running at the first opportunity to hide and regroup, but the Avengers that had come to them left too, and Loki brought Voldemort’s army back to Little Hangleton and Malekith’s forces followed the Avengers instead. 

_XXX_

April 23rd 2016. New York. 

March and April were full of similar battles. Some were won and some were lost but Thanos’ army only seemed to be growing. There were joined by the Ba-Bani and the Kodabaks now, and no one could understand what Thanos might have been promising them for their services other than the chance to wreak destruction upon another world. Loki thought it more likely that Thanos had promised to spare _their_ world in return for their servitude but the less cowardly of the Avengers had thought that to be ludicrous. Steve and Bucky in particular thought that those races should have fought to the last man rather than bend to the whims of the Mad Titan (like Loki had done, though they did not specifically say that). 

They had fought in unison several times, and though Hawkeye was ever glaring at Loki he had yet to fail to warn the God of an approaching threat if it ever appeared that Loki might not have seen it already. When they fought they were teammates but when they were civilians together, Loki was tolerated only for Harry’s sake, with bare civility, terse one-word answers and hurried attempts to leave the room after ten minutes or so. Apparently Barton was one to hold grudges, but Loki did not care enough about him to apologise and Harry had not asked or hinted that he should. Loki talked only of Harry’s children to the Avengers, Loki making it clear that they were _Harry’s_ if only so they would be free of his taint—and his guilt—by association, though occasionally Bruce and Tony questioned him about his magic. 

The Black Widow was not someone Loki would have been pleased to be left alone with, but she fought well and she fought bravely and it was her that finally offered to sneak in an retrieve the Tesseract when they finally succeeding in luring Thanos out of the old Avengers Tower. It had said ‘Stark’ on its outer wall the last time Loki had been there, he remembered, and now it was just one more crumbling ruin in a city filled with broken buildings. Natasha Romanov was one more broken thing in this city, crumbled and ruined as two Chitauri dragged her body out of the Tower’s front door and threw her onto the street. She was left there as a reminder, as many before her were, most of them new members who thought they had something to prove and died proving nothing. She was alive though, but just barely, and while Loki teleported her to the Helicarrier so that he could try and heal her, Spiderman climbed up the outside of the Tower and shot his web through the open window Widow had been about to climb out of before she was caught. 

There on the ground was the Tesseract, exactly where she had kicked it out of sight before she was captured, and Peter’s web stuck to it, pulled at it, until the cube shot straight into his hand. Thanos was left kneeling on the ground, one hand outstretched to retrieve His weapon, purple fingers instead clenching into the floor digging trenches where cement should have been with His nails as Spiderman laughed in His face and back flipped off of the window sill. 

Natasha was in a coma, it was the best Loki could do after what Thanos had done to her, and thought the cost might have been too steep to easily pay the Avengers had won this battle too. 

They had the Tesseract. 

_XXX_

April 29th 2016. Asgard. 

They had gathered at Heimdallr’s request. He had sent for Odin Allfather first, of course, and warned his King of the war on Midgard. They all knew of the War and of the Titan and of his far stretching reach throughout the galaxy, the armies that amassed for him; the millions that died for him. Hela had spoken to her grandmother about Death’s about-face concerning Her allegiance. It was not much, but it was something to hope for. They could not help, trapped without the use of the Bifrost and unable to amass enough dark matter to transport a whole army, but perhaps Death would help her new favourite in Asgard’s absence? 

“Prepare yourselves,” Heimdallr warned loudly. 

The waiting warriors tensed, hands straying to the hilts of their swords or to their axes. Thor’s fingers clenched around the handle of Mjölnir, knuckles white from the strain. They had not managed to find Loki, but Heimdallr had finally confided in them of Loki’s state, his happiness, his family, though not his location, because as Voldemort joined the war he had placed the Fidelius Charm upon his manor so at times Loki was lost to his sight. So Thor knew that Loki was safe, happy at least on Midgard if not at home with his family, old family rather since he had made a new one for himself now. But safe nonetheless. 

Loki was the last person Thor had been expecting to see where the air in front of them tore itself apart. 

A rip formed in space-time, a black hole that was blue at the centre, swirling with white and silver and magic, the Tesseract bright in the hands of the one who held it. The Asgardians took steps backwards, weapons drawn as Loki stepped through the portal. It was less volatile than his first attempt at harnessing its power: it helped to open the door on the same side as the Tesseract, Loki supposed, rather than to force a closed door open from the other end of space. But magic crackled around him nonetheless, the air smelt like electricity and ozone, burning at the ends of his hair. 

The Warriors Three and Sif stood at the front of the group, beside Thor and Odin and Heimdallr, with their weapons raised. 

“Brother?” Thor asked softly, his voice little more than a whisper as he slowly lowered Mjölnir. “Is it really you?” 

Iron Man stepped out of the portal, rolling his shoulders back and lifting the face plate once he was standing at Loki’s side. “Hey hammerhead, the others thought you might like to see a familiar, less evil face, you know to reassure the masses and all that.” Loki turned to glare at his sort-of-friend. Tony’s hand was half covering his mouth as he mock whispered, “help, help, I’m being mind-controlled.”3 

Loki elbowed him harshly, eyes narrowing further in annoyance. “I’ll tell Ms Potts on you!” Loki hissed. 

“Hey now, she’s my Ms Potts, Jadis,”4 Tony chided with a half-smile, “complain to your own man or I might have to take Harry for my own, if you don’t want him and all.” Loki narrowed his eyes again: it seemed to be all he did when around Anthony Stark, but the man was Harry’s friend and he was clever enough to make Loki not want him dead, so his teasing was tolerated though not enjoyed. 

“Brother?” Thor asked again.

At the same time, Odin whispered, “Son?”

Loki turned to face them, and Tony tried his best to be serious despite how fun it was to rile Loki up. His face was pale and his green eyes wide and the God didn’t have to try hard to ignore the stares of the others, having grown more comfortable with being stared at thanks to the Death Eaters and the Avengers. No longer ashamed, no longer afraid; he took pride now in peoples’ lingering glances, uncaring what they might be thinking when they looked upon Loki, God of Mischief. Only caring that they looked, and _saw_ him. 

“Hello Father,” he greeted softly, offering the tiniest of smiles to the man who had raised him and had inadvertently sentenced him to fourteen months of torture and rape in Asgard’s dungeons. He watched long enough to notice the softening around Odin’s remaining eye as the man tipped his head to Loki in greeting, and then he turned once more to Thor. He had thought long and hard about how this meeting might go. Harry had helped, acting as his sounding board and his conscience and the more rational half of his brain when fear threatened to overwhelm him. Harry didn’t think Odin would hurt his children, not when one child wasn’t even his and the other was half human and human looking. Nor did Odin think it would have hurt Loki as much as it had done to be separated from his other children, but that was a conversation for another time because Fenrir, Hela and Jormungandr were old enough now to defend themselves and Sleipnir was in no danger, never had been. Odin had not intended for Loki to suffer in the dungeons: that had been Thanos’ doing. He was no longer afraid of Odin.

But Thor still had the power to hurt him, to destroy him. Thor who had been lied to all of his life like Loki had been, but thought the truth changed nothing. For years Loki had thought it made a difference, but it didn’t, not really. If Thor still thought of them as brothers and Loki still wanted them to be brothers then did it really matter that Thor had not sat down like Loki had and worked himself into a panic over the fact that they weren’t? Nothing had changed for Thor, though much had changed for Loki, and they could never go back to what they had, but Loki had hoped to salvage something. _Anything_. 

“You once swore to defend Midgard from threats against it.” Loki called his armour to him. He had been wearing most of it, but now the helm was upon his head, gold and gleaming, it’s horns curled tighter than the last time he had worn it and sharpened at the points, like a rams. Thanos’ sceptre was in his hand once more and the Tesseract stayed in the other. “Do you still wish to defend Midgard?”

“I do, of course.” Came Thor’s solemn answer. 

Loki swallowed, heart in his throat as he asked, “and would you do battle with me, like we used to, Brother?”

Thor strode forward with two hurried steps, his legs eating up the distance between them. His right hand clasped Loki’s face, fingers curling around the helmet to touch the black hair underneath at his nape. “It would be my honour to fight beside you once more, Brother.” He pressed their foreheads together, eyes fixed on Loki’s own. “The greatest honour I will have ever known.” Lips pressed against his forehead for a moment before Thor pulled away, leaving Loki standing with his eyes closed and a smile on his face until Tony broke the silence. 

“Now that that’s done, every one through the black hole please. Keep arms and legs inside the wormhole at all times, adults supervise your children, and keep your seatbelts buckled. This is going to be a bumpy ride.” Tony went first. His mask slid back down to cover his face and he shot through the portal, disappearing inside of the blue until he came to a stop on the landing pad of the Helicarrier where Jane Foster and Erik Selvig had helped them reconstruct the portal device from the first Chitauri invasion. 

Thor followed Iron Man, and one by one the army that had gathered to fight followed their Prince. Loki waited until last, turning towards the All Father when they were alone but for Heimdallr and whispered, “I am sorry.”

“As am I, my son,” Odin exhaled loudly as he spoke, pulling Loki into a similar one armed hug as Thor had earlier done, “but never forget that no matter what I love you, Loki.” 

Loki hugged back tightly, breathing deeply to remember the scent of the man who had loved the child that wasn’t his, raised him and provided for him and had done his best by him (not enough, never better than Thor, never loved more, but better than Loki could have hoped for; though not better than Loki for Loki would never treat either of Harry’s children differently, who loved them both equally). He was angry still and there were many questions that needed to be asked and answered on both of their parts, but there was a war raging and just in case he didn’t survive it, Loki said, “I love you too, Father. All will be well.” 

He pulled out of the embrace, nodded once at Heimdallr and disappeared through the portal without a backward glance. It closed behind Loki; leaving Odin and Frigga as the last defence for their realm should Thanos get over ambitious. The Asgardians waited on the Helicarrier, armed to the teeth and impatient when Loki arrived. But he had no time for them. His eyes were drawn instead to Harry who was talking softly to Thor and Tony and Barton, filling him in on their losses so far, Loki guessed. 

“Welcome home,” Harry greeted warmly when he noticed Loki watching him. Loki didn’t correct him, though Thor looked like he was about to, and he ignored the staring again as he pushed himself against Harry’s chest, encircled in his arms as they kissed. 

**XXX**

* * * 

1- “God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, A gauntlet with a gift in it” – Elizabeth Barrett Browning.  
2- Oxford English dictionary defines baby momma as an unmarried woman, sometimes not even in a relationship, with the man whose child she carries. Vice versa.   
3- “Help, help, I’m being repressed.” – Monty Pyton and the Holy Grail.   
4- Jadis is the name of the White Witch in Narnia, actually a half-Giantess who got lost between worlds and had an affinity for snow and ice. 

* * *

Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you thought! 

When I finish this I’m going to go back and finish off Through the Looking Glass (LV/HP) before I even think of starting When The Levee Breaks (the Chitauri won AU frostiron I have planned), or at least that’s the plan.


	12. Part 11

This took an awful lot of time to write. Apologies. Working two jobs and studying at the same time is really, really time consuming! 

* * * 

**Words:** 6,845  
 **Chapter 11**  
May 4th 2016. New York. 

People talk about their life flashing before their eyes. But there was nothing like that for him. No warning. One minute, Tony was standing there, with a drink in one hand, and a group of women surrounding him, the weakest of the Avengers without his armour. The next, he was on his knees, gasping for air. Thanos’ blade had slid in between his ribs like he was butter, the Titan’s grin sharp like his blade, cast at each of the women who could only stare in horror, too shocked to understand what had just happened. Before he could cry out, before he could plead – no, not that, he would never beg, he was Tony Stark damn it, but he should have gone out with a bang at least! – Thanos had crouched behind him, knife driving through his ribs on the other side, puncturing his left lung too. 

“You took something of mine,” Thanos murmured into his ear. It was soft, almost kind, and the Titan patted the top of Tony’s head gently as he removed his knife. Rather, he pushed Tony off of the knife, the body sliding forward to land on its face on the floor. 

People screamed. Some people ran and others cowered. Some screamed for the Avengers to help them. But none of them checked to see if Tony might still be alive, even after Thanos had vanished as silently as he had appeared. 

His life didn’t flash before his eyes. Nothing, no reminders, no thoughts of missed chances, he didn’t even think about the pain; there was no pain, only breathlessness. One minute, Tony was there. The next, he was gone. 

_XXX_

May 6th 2016. Helheimr.

Loki was fighting alongside Malekith, Thor was with what remained of the Avengers and Tony’s funeral was pushed aside for the time being because Thanos had picked the very next day to amp their war up to the next level. No one was safe now in New York. Before, people had hidden, people had run screaming, but now Thanos’ forces chased them down, hunted them out of their holes and alleys and burrows, dragging them by their hair or their ankles and killing each one that was captured. He was angry about the Tesseract, angry about Death’s rejection too. Luna had told them of their conversation, of Thanos’ ambitions to outstrip her, and they could only guess, horror bubbling in the pit of their stomachs, at the number of people He would have to kill to be considered on par with Death herself. 

But while they considered, and while they despaired, and fought, and were cut down one at a time, Harry went for reinforcements. 

They were almost at the stage where they were ready to surrender, their war having been dragged out long enough. It was great that they had the Asgardian army. It was more than great, but unfortunately they were loyal first and foremost to Asgard, so at the end of every battle they would have Loki send them home. Thanos, somehow, seemed to know when they were gone. They had fallen for it a few times, weak attempted at defeating them easily defeated until the Asgardians were gone and suddenly Thanos would up the ante. More warriors would arrive, would fight harder, fiercer, and it took over an hour for the Tesseract to gather enough energy to call the Asgardians back to Midgard. Now they just stayed here, hiding out wherever the Avengers were or the X-Men or the Brotherhood or the Fantastic Four. The Ghost Rider was always alone, and more often than not Spider-Man and Deadpool were together and kept to themselves, but the others could always be found mixing it up with an Asgardian or a Dark-Elf or a Death Eater. But one by one they started to lose the drive they needed to survive, hopelessness settled upon them, burdens heavy on their shoulders as the numbers of their dead began to outstrip the deaths suffered by Thanos’ armies. 

Fortunately, there was one army that had yet to join them. She had promised her help, but she had yet to arrive and her army had stayed away with her. Harry thought he knew why, after all of these months, years even, of watching her father suffer, Hela should have interfered. But she hadn’t, and Harry thought he knew why. 

“Pale Death, with impartial step, knocks,” Harry called out loudly as he walked through the wide double doors. A Cerberus stood guard, but made no move to attack him so Harry ignored it. 1

“And impartial Death must remain,” the woman on the throne answered, “as must Her servants be.” 

She was a strange looking person. Depending on how the light hit her, she was beautiful and terrifying in equal parts. One half of her face was the image of Loki’s womanly features, high cheekbone, full lips, wide green eye and heavy dark lashes. Her hair was blonde though, taking after her mother. But on the left, like Cruella DeVille, her hair was pitch black. 

She turned suddenly, but Harry didn’t gasp or stumble back as some others had done before. He had seen much worse after all, and been married to Voldemort before the ritual that made him look human had been recast. She was nothing but bone, he thought at first, but no, there was the thinnest film of skin stretched tight across her cheeks, paper thin and transparent, no life left in its flesh. Her eye was pure black, iris and pupil and all, dark eyelashes missing and teeth peeking out where her lips should have been. Her cheekbone was so sharp Harry wondered if she had ever cut herself scratching, but then looking at her arm on that side he figured it wouldn’t have mattered. Her arm was as bony as her skull, likely that whole side of her was, thin and pale and dead, but from the right she was beautiful, body curvy and full. Her dress was pushed out at her chest, clinging tightly to her bust and he was going to ask about that, because everything there looked so even, but then he thought better of it. This was, after all, his husband’s daughter. One didn’t talk about their step-daughter’s boobs with them! 

Hela laughed, loudly with her head thrown back, like she knew what he had been thinking. There was a mask in her hand, a long black thing with twisted bits of leather and bone coming out of the top like a crown that would hover over her head when it was on her face. It covered one side more than others, more a jester’s mask than what Harry had been forced to wear to the Malfoy’s last masquerade ball. On the right side it covered her eye, wide enough that the green could be easily seen, ending just above her cheek but it went up and up into her hair line, twisting and bending over her skull to join with the other side, two horns that knotted together above her hair. 

“Until commanded otherwise?” He phrased it as a question, but they both knew it wasn’t one. Hela had been waiting for this moment for many years. The loss of Harry’s child had opened her eyes to his existence, and she had kept his son tucked behind her skirts safe and sound until Death had come for him, claiming the time for his re-birth. Loki’s daughter had joined her too, and her father for a short time, and both had gone back to life, together with Harry’s son, and it was no coincidence that Harry had been the one to find Loki. A Wizard who was pregnant, and unafraid of it, who could show Loki that pregnancy was not something to be feared or disgusted by, who had magic to protect them all, who was a hero that Odin could not disapprove of, who had a husband who would raze the universe if the AllFather dared to take those children away. A man who was the Master of Death, more importantly, and who had the power to order Death to do his bidding. Her, _and_ her servants. 

“Is this you commanding me?” From behind her throne, figures began to walk out of the shadows. They were taller than anyone Harry had ever seen, including Grawp. Hagrid’s brother had only been half a giant, but these men could be mistaken for nothing but full giants. They crouched down when they reached him, the two at the front the largest ones, decorated in golden chains and gems and shiny fabrics that wrapped around their waists and thighs like shorts tied at the crotch in an elaborate knot. The others only wore loin clothes, carried weapons, and had the most basic of decorations on their body, a bit of paint, a single gold chain linking their horns together, and occasionally a bracelet that meant they were mated to another Jötun. Harry considered asking about them, maybe getting Loki one too, or a chain for the horns of his helm, and then dismissed the notion. His husband would probably set him on fire; he was rather fond of his wedding ring. 

“Harry Potter, Death’s Master, husband of the Dark Lord Voldemort and of Loki Laufeyson, true King of Jötunheimr, heir to the throne of Asgard, my stepfather.” She introduced him at length. 

“Why does it sound more like Loki’s introduction, than mine?” He raised an eyebrow and she offered him a half smile as some of the Frost Giants snarled at Loki’s name. 

“He has that effect,” she apologized with a one shouldered shrug. “These are Loki’s younger brothers and some of their most trusted, those who volunteered to help us defeat the Titan.” Harry forgot their names as sound as they were introduced, more concerned with the last figure who had been behind Hela’s throne. 

He walked forward slowly, looking a little unstable, but he threw his arm out in time to catch the arm of the throne and stop himself from stumbling. “Hey gorgeous, you miss me?” Tony grinned widely. 

“Pepper is going to kill you,” Harry told him. “Again.” He turned to Hela again, nodding at the giants’ who met his eyes as he looked around. “This is me commanding you.” 

“Take him, then,” she said, throwing her arms out wide. The double doors behind them swung open and the Cerberus stayed silent and sitting, so Harry held his hand out towards Tony who took it quickly. “Take them too. I must remain in my realm, but they will follow the orders of Jötunheimr’s King.” 

“Uh,” Harry muttered, “I don’t think they’ll be too keen to take order from Loki.”

“I was talking about you, Master of Death. You have wed my father, have you not? Then you are their King.”

“Didn’t you say Loki was their King?” Tony piped up, eyes narrowed as the giants stepped closer to the two humans. 

“I said he was Jötunheimr’s true King, I never said he would _be_ King. He is as Laufey was, Queen, until his King dies.” Harry’s eyes widened at the implication, but he pushed the thought from his mind. He had more important things to worry about. 

“Ok, everyone ready?” He received several nods, the odd bow here and there from amongst the waiting group, but his attention was on Tony Stark. “Coming back from the dead sucks, so prepare yourself.”

_XXX_

Tony didn’t have much of a chance to prepare himself. The moment Harry finished speaking, they were gone, whirling through time and space and between dimensions, and landing uncomfortably fast back inside of his body. The Frost Giants landed on their feet, half crouched for balance, and Harry landed perfectly, decades of experience under his belt, but Tony slammed face first into his corpse and woke up with all four limbs flailing as he choked and sputtered. 

“What.” He started coughing, “the fuck!” 

“I told you it was uncomfortable,” Harry told him, turning to leave the room even as he spoke. 

“Let’s never do that again!” Harry hummed an agreement, waving the giants passed him through the doorway while Tony dragged himself out of the middle of the hastily pieced together funeral pyre that Thor had insisted on building when they hadn’t buried him straight away. Apparently, fighting a war wasn’t a valid enough excuse for not burying someone straight away in Asgard. “What the fuck?” Tony muttered again, glancing warily back at the pile of wood and hay and—“Are those my kitchen chairs?” 

“Thor took what he could scavenge. He thought, though, that you’d like to depart with your possessions so he stole them from the Tower. Without getting caught.” 

“They were nice chairs,” Tony muttered as he left the room, “Pepper liked them.” 

“We told Pepper they were broken when Thor brought them here, fyi.” Harry grinned over his shoulder at Tony, and the elder man snorted, before turning his attention to the giants and the plain white wall in front of him as if he could see right through it. 

“So what did I miss?” 

His hands were clenched at his sides, fingernails biting into the palms of his hands and Harry watched as the blood began to well and drip slowly to the floor, time slowing down as the injuries attempted to heal themselves, and he smirked. Hela had kept her promise. 2

“Party’s just getting started, Tony,” Harry promised him. With a wave of his hand the door flew open and the Jötuns and the missing Avenger joined the battle outside. Harry apparated directly to Steve, informing him quickly about Tony and the Frost Giants being on their side, and asking him to pass the message along the comms. Then he appeared beside Loki, who ducked quickly and drove his sceptre back up almost impaling Harry. The tip of the spear stopped against Harry’s stomach and dropped as quickly as it had appeared, flinging over Loki’s shoulder to impale the Chitauri who had dared try and sneak up on him. 

“Don’t do that!” Loki hissed with narrowed red eyes. His skin was blue again, and he wasn’t shy about grabbing onto his enemies and hugging them until they screamed and their skin blistered from the cold. The other Frost Giants were doing the same and when Loki noticed them he blinked twice, back tense, but he went back to the battle fighting fiercer than before. 

Harry left him be, nodding to Voldemort as they crossed paths, and continued searching Tony out of the crowd. When he spotted the human, his suit having made its way to him in the chaos courtesy of Jarvis, Harry set about drawing Thanos’ attention to Iron Man. When the Titan was close enough to touch, Harry ducked, struck forward to grab Him around the waist and flung Him at Iron Man. 

“Take off the gloves!” Harry shouted. Tony fumbled, but did as instructed, one gauntlet falling off after the other and hitting the ground with loud bangs, echoing like gun shots. Everyone stopped to watch. Harry prayed fervently to Hela, hoping against every nagging fear that existed within him that she had at least thought to explain Tony’s new gift to him. She must have, because Tony’s hands shot out without hesitation, one gripping the wrist of the hand that wore the Infinity Gauntlet and the other wrapping around Thanos’ throat. Skin began smoking, and Thanos screamed, a horrible, desperate noise torn from His throat that was destroying itself. Not melting, not burning or blistering, but turning to stone. Inch by inch, as Harry fought to drag strips of cloth out of the way, exposing more purple skin; Tony pressed his hand there, over and over, until the others came to help. 

Steve grabbed a leg, pulling off His boot. Clint had the other leg, while Thor began ripping at the chest plate He wore. Fenrir almost ripped off the Titan’s leg, so vicious did he pull of the second boot Thanos wore. The arms were pinned by a Dark-Elf and a Shield agent respectively, the gauntlet and the other glove torn away by two of the X-Men, and though Harry knew them he couldn’t recall their names. Loki took pleasure in his role, kneeling by Thanos’ head and holding Him still with one hand on either side of His temple, bent forward enough so that Thanos had to stare into Loki’s eyes while Tony Stark painstakingly turned him to stone. Harry pulled the power gem out of the discarded Gauntlet and forced Tony to curl the fingers of one hand around it. Magic shot up Tony’s arm and down his other one, catching one Thanos’ skin and spreading, like a sickness, from one cell to the next to the next until every part of the Titan was stone, cold and breakable and defeated. 

They pulled, all at the same time as Lord Voldemort commanded them too. The Asgardians stood aside, refusing to take order from a mortal, but Thor took his pleasure in helping to tear the limbs off of the creature who had tortured his brother for years. Legs and arms began a pile, split into two pieces at the knees and elbows, a head added to it and then the torso cracked in three parts finished it off. The Asgardians left to finish off the stragglers from Thanos’ armies, most of who surrendered. 

Malekith took his forces, with Loki’s magical help, and two of Thanos’ body parts back to Svartalfheimr. 

Only three of the Vanir had come to fight for them, Sigyn’s father was one of them though he did not introduce himself as such. He took back Thanos’ upper torso when he took his friends home. 

When Loki returned with the Tesseract, the Frost Giants asked to leave. They took all of the parts of His legs, wrapped in a bed-sheet that was found tangled in a tree. It was a prize for any victorious nation, and they knew better than to ask for His head when Thor stood bold as brass and holding it by the hair. So they took His legs, and they took their leave, and all but the two Princes bowed to Harry as they passed him. Those two stood tall, glaring at Loki before they turned simultaneously to Harry and nodded. They offered Loki a nod too, glancing longingly at the Casket he held between his blue hands. 

“Thank you for your help,” Loki whispered. They were not his brothers, they probably never would be, by they were by their actions his brothers-in-arms, and that counted for something on Asgard and on Midgard too. “It is my wish that future meetings between us run as smoothly.” He held out the Casket, shaking it slowly when no one took it from him. 

Býleistr grabbed it after another moment’s hesitation; half afraid Loki would laugh and snatch it away. But his hands closed over it, and he tugged it against his chest, holding it carefully as Helblindi bowed deeply. “Thank you, my Queen.” 

Thor had been offended by a similar phrase, ‘little princess’ it had been, spoken by Laufey in amusement. And while Thor had grown angry and attacked the Jötun, Loki only offered a half smile as his hand came to press over his stomach, smiling when Harry wrapped an arm around his waist so he could do the same from the other side. He might have been offended before, but he had done his research when they had been trying to conceive Sigrid, and he knew know that though all Jötun were male and all could conceive, only some had the ability to successfully breed. Those that did were ‘mother’, and those that married a King were Queens. 

“You are welcome,” Loki gave a small nod of his head as he whispered, “Brothers.” 

They left then, taking the Casket and their army with them. The Asgardians returned, congregating around Thor who continued to hold the head of the Mad Titan as if it were his Hammer, which had been relegated to being clipped at his belt for the first time since they had arrived on Midgard to fight. They took the Tesseract, and Thor led them to the warehouse Jane had set up the machine to harness its powers in. Earth kept the last two pieces of Thanos’ torso, but Thor took His head home. It was to be displayed for all to see, in his own words, a testament to what would happen to any who dared to harm a Prince of Asgard. As he spoke he kept his eyes on Loki, who smiled and nodded and then shrugged, because when Thor got something into his head there was no point arguing with him. 

_XXX_

May 9th 2016. New York. 

They took a few days off to rest, while Fury tried to rally the World Security Council into forcing the other superpower countries into lending their assistance. No one was offering, which wasn’t a surprise, cleaning up your own mess was bad enough without having to clear up after the second New York alien invasion. Nobody wanted to do that. But it was too much work for just them, so Nick kept asking. 

Their first stop was Natasha, only because they knew where she was. They had her in one of those make shift war hospitals, tents and tables with cloths thrown over them instead of walls and beds and volunteers instead of doctors. But it was the best they had had, now though, they could move her, but there was no need. Harry ran the Power Gem along the length of her face and Natasha shot out of the bed like she had been electrocuted. She crouched on the floor in front of them, legs akimbo and arms pulled back ready to punch someone. When she saw it was them she seemed to collapse into herself, a deep breath escaping her and Clint caught her in his arms and just held her. She didn’t cry, but she buried her face in his neck and just breathed. 

It wasn’t as easy to fix Bruce. When they finally found him, they had a little trouble getting the Hulk to stand still. 

“Should have kept those Giants around,” Tony groused, hanging from one arm like a bug that just wouldn’t blow away. Loki finally managed to freeze him in place, but without the Casket it wouldn’t last long, so Harry hurried. He levitated beside the Hulk’s face, making eye contact as he brought out the Soul Gem and squeezed it. It was bright and blue for a moment before it dimmed and the Hulk began to shrink rapidly, knocking Harry out of the way and dropping Tony to the ground beside him with a thump. 

“Wha?” The naked Bruce Banner groaned as he tried to sit up, half trapped under Iron Man’s weight. “What happened? What’d I miss?” 

“Calm down, big guy!” Tony slapped him on the back as Steve offered him some spare pants. “We won.”

“We won?” He received a round of nods, some more enthusiastic than others. “Oh. Good.” He let out a short laugh, more of a happy exhalation that anything, but the others laughed along with him as Bruce allowed his body to flop backwards, feeling more exhausted than he had ever felt before. “We won.”

_XXX_

June 19th 2016. Asgard. 

Though Thor had taken the Tesseract with him, he had left behind the Gauntlet. Loki had insisted that Odin would want it returned, and for practical reasons they should return it before Odin comes looking for it. But Shield had found it rather useful the way the Gems helped things along. So they kept it for a month, healing their injured and fixing the damage done to the city, warping reality until new buildings took the place of the crumbling old ones. Harry hadn’t minded as much as Loki (who was mostly protesting in case Heimdallr was watching) but he drew the line at them using the Time Gem. Bad things happen to Wizards who meddle with time, after all. So he popped the Gem back into the ring Thanos had ripped it from and slid it on his finger, on his right hand opposite the Deathly Hallow and no one chose to argue with him. 

The Mind Gem remained on Loki’s finger, hidden beneath the crest of the House of Odin and he kept Thor’s Space Gem safe in his pocket, intending to return it along with the Gauntlet. Tony kept hold of the Soul Gem, which enabled him to travel between Midgard and Hela’s realm where Loki’s daughter had promised to teach the human all he needed to know about his new cosmic powers. The other two Gems were for Odin, to do with as he pleased, but for the two Guardians Thanos had killed, Tony and Harry would assume their place. Odin could deal with the Reality and Power Gem however he liked. 

Loki handed them over easily to Heimdallr who met them on the Bifrost when Loki brought his family there. He wore the Gauntlet over one of his own gloves, more for show than anything else; to watch the Æsir gasp in horror at the sight of it on him as Heimdallr led them to the throne room. His parents were there, with Thor, when they were shown inside. Eileifer was in Loki’s arms, hands curled around his mother’s neck and eyes wide with wonder as he looked around. He was almost three years old, and as curious as any toddler, and he whispered questions into Loki’s ear as if they were going out of fashion. Sigrid was calmer, quieter, eight months and counting, lying quite happily in her father’s arms with her head turned outward, eyes fixed on any face that got too close. Her lips pursed occasionally, but thankfully she refrained from crying. 

Loki handed over the Gems and the Gauntlet without fuss, introduced Harry to the court and his parents but made no mention of the children, not wanting to give anyone ammunition to use against him. 

“Are these them?” Thor asked loudly, no longer able to hold his tongue. He bounced on the balls of his feet, excitement thrumming through him, because he had yet to meet his niece or nephew but Clint and Anthony had pictures on their mobile phones. 

“This is Eileifer and that is Sigrid. They are Harry’s children,” Loki told his brother reluctantly. The arm around Eileifer tightened a fraction as Thor stepped closer. 

Harry rolled his eyes, but let it pass without comment. Loki had come to terms with the fact that Odin wasn’t hunting him down to steal the children, but rather to find Loki and make sure Loki was ok. That didn’t mean the rest of the Court would be as pleased as Frigga looked to be greeted by more of Loki’s progeny. “Sigrid isn’t too fond of strangers, but Eileifer would talk the bark of a tree if he could. You want to hold him?” Thor’s eyes went wide at the offer but he nodded slowly, staying silent as Harry coaxed his son out of Loki’s arms (or rather, coaxed Loki’s arms from around his son). “Remember you asked for this,” Harry told him with a grin. “Eileifer, this is your uncle Thor. Say hello.”

“Hello,” the child murmured. He didn’t wait for a response before reaching up and pulling Thor’s beard, “what’s this? Why do you have it? Are you broken?” 

“That was rude,” Loki muttered petulantly, knowing he should speak up but not wanting to chastise his son in front of the Asgardians who were staring at them. 

“Sorry!” The child chirped with a wide smile. “Why do you have this? What does it do?” He was reaching down to grab the hammer at Thor’s belt. “What’s this for?” While pulling at the coin purse beside Mjölnir. “Oh what does this do?” Little feet kicked at the codpiece and Thor winced as he handed the boy back to Loki. “Mother! What’s that for? Is it father’s? Is father here?” He was pointing at Odin’s throne, and the man sat upon it only raised one eyebrow at the onslaught of questions. 

“Now, who does he remind you of?” Frigga whispered to her husband, casting her own amused glance in Loki’s direction. 

“Always asking questions,” Odin agreed with a fond smile as he remembered another little dark haired boy, one who was grown and estranged from him now but no less loved. “Always getting into trouble,” he added as they watched the boy wiggle his way out of Loki’s arms and start pestering Heimdallr who stayed silent and straight backed, ignoring the questions with the patience of a God. “Come here child?” Odin asked, crooking a finger at the boy. 

Loki’s hand clamped down on Eileifer’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “It has been a long few months, AllFather. We should like to retire now. On the morrow I will introduce them, with your permission, to Sleipnir, and then we will take our leave.”

“You don’t have to leave so soon!” Frigga stood from her throne, hands on the arm rests to keep them from reaching out to her youngest child.

“It has been a long day, my Queen.” But the tilt of his head said something entirely different and Frigga smiled at what she read there, nodding her own head just a fraction, just enough for Loki to read her response. When all of the court was abed, and Harry’s family tucked away inside of Loki’s old set of rooms, Frigga knocked on the door. Odin and Thor were with her, and Loki let them in with pleasure. 

_XXX_

June 20th 2016. Asgard. 

Sleipnir was everything Harry had been expecting and more. Twice the height of an average horse, with twice as many legs, but he was calm and happy and let Eileifer climb all over him without bucking. The sight of him made Loki smile widely, face almost split in half from his grin, and so Harry loved the horse for no other reason than that. He pet him lightly, brushing his mane as Loki whispered into his son’s ear, apologies for his past treatment, for giving him away so easily, for not fighting harder, for not loving him sooner, and hopes for the future, that Sleipnir could come with them, live with the Dark Lord and all the strange magical creatures that had gathered at Hogwarts, and he would no longer be the freakish son of Loki the eight-legged horse. He could just be Sleipnir, son of Loki, welcomed by Lord Voldemort as Fenrir and Jormungandr had been welcomed. 

The horse whinnied and whined and nudged Loki’s shoulder every time the man became sad, until he told tales of the present and of his life and introduced the children. Sleipnir didn’t speak, but there was no doubt in Harry’s mind that he could understand and that Loki could understand him in return. 

He was happy for them, promising a place for Sleipnir with them if he wanted to come. Was allowed to come, Loki had interrupted, shooting a glare back in the direction of the Palace, where Sleipnir’s master sat upon his golden throne. 

When they had finished, on that rather unhappy note, Loki led them back to the castle. Eileifer trailed along behind them, throwing leaves into the air and trying to catch them, pulling blossoms off of trees and tucking them into his pockets to give to his mother later, while Loki carried Sigrid this time. 

“Hello Whoreson,” a voice called from behind them. Thor’s blonde friend stood there, staring down at Eileifer who grinned at him and waved, spotting Thor and his other friends running to catch up. 

“Fandral!” Loki hissed, reaching forward to drag his son back. “He is Harry’s son, not mine.” 

“Well in that case,” Fandral said, turning his attention to the sleeping Sigrid, “would this be your-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Harry recommended, just as Thor caught up. He grabbed his friends arm and pulled him back, shaking the blonde harshly as he demanded to know what had been said. “Now, you have three seconds to apologise, before I beat you to death, bring you back to life, and let Loki kill you again.” 

Fandral opened his mouth, likely to laugh in their faces but Thor shook him roughly again, hissing angrily into his ear. Harry could only hear a few words, ‘Prince’ referred to Loki, but ‘Death’ probably had something to do with him. He grinned, wide enough to bare his teeth, and he didn’t bother to hide his smirk as Fandral swept into a low bow, mumbling, “I am deeply sorry, my liege.” 

“So you should be. If you ever refer to my child as anything other than they royalty they are,” Harry threatened, eyes narrowed and green magic sparking at his fingers, as the Elder wand burned in his pocket. He slipped into Parseltongue purposely, enjoying the way the Warriors Three flinched back and Lady Sif raised her sword warily. “ **You will regret it**.” 

Loki steered Harry away, fighting back his own grin. It never got old, watching Harry defend him, knowing that Harry cared enough to defend him. He turned his head to press a kiss to Harry’s cheek, and then his mouth when Harry turned towards him too. They kissed softly, stopping in the road, until Eileifer squeezed between their legs to push them apart. “Kissing is gross!” He declared with a pout, before turning around and gathering up a pile of leaves. There were worms in the middle of the pile, but he happily handed it over to Harry (who was child-free) and declared, “better than kisses, daddy!” 

“Oh certainly,” Loki agreed with a smile, “but don’t I get anything?” 

“You have my sister!” Eileifer declared, frowning angrily. “She’s better than bugs and dirt!”

“Yes she is, my love. You both are.” The child nodded imperiously, accepting his mother’s one armed hug before he pulled a head off another rosebush and handed it over. “Thank you, beloved.” Harry discreetly rid himself of the handful of worm infested leaves and magiced his hands clean, before encircling one arm around Loki’s waist. 

“Now where were we?” Harry asked once Eileifer was distracted again. They kissed twice more, careful not to get caught by their eldest child. When Sigrid began to stir they headed back inside, with Eileifer running ahead and Harry glancing around in interest. “Doesn’t seem so bad here. If you ignore the really annoying ones, I mean.”

“Anywhere you are, my love.” Loki smiled at him. Harry smiled back, wide and warm and Loki melted into it, one arm around his daughter and the other around his husband as they hugged and when he pulled back he whispered, “Would you like another?” 

They glanced at their daughter who was now wide awake and likely hungry. But they had five minutes or so before she’d start screaming for food. So they watched her, and listened out for their son who was probably in the middle of destroying a priceless artefact (as mischievous as Loki ever was despite their lack of biological relationship) and Harry thought about it for less than a minute. “As many as you want, remember.” 

Loki’s smile was bright enough to rival the son. 

_XXX_

August 29th 2016. New York. 

They stayed on Asgard for over a month. Odin had agreed to let Sleipnir go with them, whenever they were ready to leave but Loki had sent Sleipnir ahead, dropping him at Hogwarts early lest Odin change his mind. They hadn’t bought a new home since they ran from the one in Alaska, but they were talking about it, considering where to settle. With their magic at their disposal distance wasn’t a problem, so Sleipnir could stay in the Forbidden Forest, roam free, and still see his mother regularly; the same went for Voldemort and Eileifer. But they hadn’t come to a decision yet, at least, not until the day Heimdallr came to the throne room and demanded Thor’s presence. 

The Avengers were assembling once more, and Thor was wanted amongst them. So he went, hurrying after Heimdallr back towards the Bifrost, stopping only for a second to glance at his brother and ask, “will you do battle with me once more, Brother?” 

Loki nodded, his smile soft and shy, but he gathered his family quickly, hugged his mother goodbye and rushed after Thor. 

Odin stopped him at the door, shaking his head fondly. “Surely you aren’t bringing the babes to battle with you?”

“Well no, but,” Loki stuttered. 

“You intend to stay home with them while your husband fights?”

“Of course not!” Loki hissed, eyes narrowing. 

“That settles it then,” Odin exclaimed as he pulled Eileifer out of Loki’s arms. Frigga was behind him and she carefully reached out for Sigrid, Harry handing her over with a snort of amusement, glancing at Loki’s face which seemed to be frozen in a state of shock. “They children will remain with their grandparents and you will come for them after the battle has ended.” They didn’t wait for a response before walking back to their thrones, the children with them, and Loki glanced between them as if unsure what had just happened. 

“Come on,” Harry murmured, “it’ll only be a few hours. And Luna is watching them, remember. They’ll be fine, I promise.”

“You promise?” Loki’s voice shook, and he had to look away from his parents to stop himself running back to snatch away his children. Just because he trusted Odin not to hurt these children or take them didn’t mean Loki trusted Odin with them. It was hard to see his father hold his son, it was terrifying to think of leaving his son there with him (his mother he could trust, his mother had always stood up for his children), but Harry had promised. And Harry’s promises were always true, so Loki followed his husband from the throne room and to the Bifrost. 

Thor had left without them, but they transported themselves to the newly restored Avengers Tower (how many times had it been destroyed now, Harry thought to himself). 

“Where is the battle?” 

“It hasn’t started yet,” Tony told them with a cheeky grin. At his side, Pepper sighed and smacked his shoulder in a futile attempt to stop him. “The Tower is complete. There are ten of us, nine if Loki and Harry share and the kids get their own rooms. Pepper and I get the penthouse. There are four more floors. Three rooms on each floor. If you don’t want to share with someone, now is the time to run for your floor.” Tony looked at each of them, Loki and Harry rolling their eyes at him, and Pepper sighing loudly again. “Let the battle commence!”

Clint was the first to bolt, followed by Thor. Bruce just let out a put upon sigh, as did Steve, both sinking down onto the sofa. “Let me know where I end up,” Bruce mumbled, reaching for the remote and flicking on the TV. Natasha had disappeared somewhere between him sighing and speaking, but Loki and Harry were still there. 

“Guys! Come on, you’re going to end up separate from your kids if you don’t at least try!”

“Three rooms per floor, right?” Harry asked just to be sure. 

“That’s right.” Tony was frowning at them, perched on the arm of the sofa Bruce was sitting in. 

“We’ll share a room, and then one for each of the children.” Loki informed them slowly, “Until the next one comes along at least.” Tony was still blinking from that announcement when Jarvis spoke, voice soft and so very British that Harry felt nostalgic all of a sudden. 

“Sir, Clinton would like to complain of Loki’s cheating. It appears no one can access the floor directly below yours.” 

“We win,” Harry told Tony with a grin as the billionaire shot them a dirty look. 

“Stop cheating!” He demanded, crossing his arms petulantly. 

“You sure you still want them to live here?” Pepper asked softly, eyes wide and innocent as Harry stuck his tongue out at her. 

“Well,” Tony said, rubbing his chin as he considered her question. No one made mention of the diamond ring Pepper was now wearing, though Loki had blinked slowly when he had noticed it, just like no one mentioned how the kitchen they were standing in was already child-proofed. “As long as you don’t cheat when I’m playing, I guess.” He shrugged, before handing over two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. “Welcome home.” 

They drank in toast to their new home, to Loki’s desire for a third child, to Tony’s engagement that hadn’t been officially announced yet, to Clint getting to share a floor with Natasha which had been his main concern, to defeating Thanos and cleaning up his mess, to friends, to family. 

To happy endings. 

**The End**

* * * 

1 – Horace, Carmina, I. 4. 13.  
2 – In the comics, it’s Adam Warlock who dies and comes back to defeat Thanos, imbued with ‘cosmic powers’ from the afterlife. 

* * * 

Thanks for reading. This is it, finished, completed, done with, over, ta-da! Please let me know what you thought?


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